


See Me

by AllyThePotato



Category: Glee
Genre: A lot of chapters, Angst, Blangst, Character Development, Child Abuse, Identity Issues, M/M, Music, Poems, Poetry, Short Chapters, angry blaine, emotional fic, mega angst, some violence, written in verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 114
Words: 21,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyThePotato/pseuds/AllyThePotato
Summary: Blaine Anderson is not who he used to be. After he came out to his family in his freshman year of high school, everything fell apart. He stopped hanging out with his friends, started dressing differently, doesn't sing or dance anymore. Until Kurt Hummel waltzes into his life during his junior year, and tries to open him up, all the while Blaine is trying to cope with the fact that his father doesn't want anything to do with him anymore. Blaine writes all of this down in a journal, in verses.Written in verse, this is 'See Me.'
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 39





	1. Blaine Devon Anderson

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very angsty fic, and it features child abuse. Please don't read if it's triggering to you. 
> 
> Enjoy the fic!  
> -Ally xx

**BLAINE DEVON ANDERSON**

Being someone that my father once

Loved is hard to be. They tell me it’s going to be

All right, but he won’t even look at me anymore—

I think it’s because I’m different,

Not like him, or my brother. I’m his

Enemy. In his eyes.

Don’t get me wrong, I love him, at least

Enough to forgive him for not being a

Very good father. He won’t look at me,

Only acknowledges me when I’m

Not doing something correctly.

And it’s all right. It kind of hurts but

Not enough to make me cry. I

Don’t give

Enough of a damn. I just

Really want him to look at me. To

See me, you know? He can scream at me

Over and over again, if he wants to. I just

Need him to see me.


	2. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like to think it’s my body’s way of getting rid of all the poison and bitterness I have built up inside of me…”

**SWEAT**

It’s summer and it

just rained, the air is hot

and damp and sticky. It feels

kind of gross, the way my shirt

clings to my back and

soaks up all my sweat.

Cooper said it looked

it looked like two ass

cheeks on my back, the way

I’ve been sweating. He looks

like two ass cheeks,

without the sweat.

I sweat a lot, actually. I like

to think it’s my body’s way

of getting rid of all the poison

and bitterness I have built up

inside of me—God knows

there’s a lot of it there.


	3. Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My father. Sometimes he looks me dead in the eye and says the words to me.”

**GAY**

I am gay.

A Homosexual

A Homo

A Queer

A Queen

A Twink

A Lady

A Princess

A Butt Boy

A Cum Slut

A Cock Sucker

A Fem-Boy

A Faggot

Names I’ve been

called at school, in the

street, on the bus, in

the park, in the boy’s

bathroom, and at Home.

I keep a list, of everyone who’s

ever called me these names—it’s long—

I’ll share a few of them

With you

David Karofsky

Coach Sylvester

Noah Puckerman

Quinn Fabray

Santana Lopez

My bus driver

the School Security Guard

The Janitor in the Grocery Store

My Father. Sometimes he looks me dead in the eye and says the words to me.

My name is Blaine Devon _Homosexual Homo Queer Queen Twink Lady Princess Butt Boy Cum Slut Cock Sucker Fem-Boy Faggot_ Anderson.


	4. Skeletons in My Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I seem to have made my choice.”

I suppose for

a long time, I was the

skeleton in my closet.

I stayed in there so

long that I’m sure

my skin decayed and

I soon turned to dust

and there was nothing

left of me

but bone

and the hair

on my head.

But when I

exited the closet, everything

grew back only for my

new face to be bruised

by my father’s

heavy hand

and my newly beating heart

to be broken by my

father’s harsh,

cruel words.

It made me miss being a

skinless, unseeing, unknowing,

heartless skeleton, imprisoned

but protected from harm.

But I was in so much

pain, in that closet, suffocating

because the air was running

out and my lungs were

dissolving into dust that

only choked me some more,

so I had to choose which

one I valued more—my father’s

love and

respect and

affection, or my freedom.

I seem to have made my choice.

Now my father’s love is

the skeleton in my closet.


	5. Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I kind of like it, being short, I mean.

**SHORT**

When they aren’t calling me

faggot, they're making fun of

other things about

me. One of them is

the fact that I’m

shorter than the

average male.

They call me a hobbit

midget,

dwarf,

but honestly it doesn’t bother

me very much

I kind of like it,

being short, I mean.

It makes it easier

to blend

in with the crowd, less

chance of being shoved into

a locker—which

hurts. Don’t let anyone tell you

anything different.

If no one can see

me in the crowd, if my

head isn’t sticking up taller

than the others, there’s

a less chance of me being

noticed, and honestly

all I want to do is disappear.


	6. The Ten Commandments to Being Invisible

**THE TEN COMMANDMENTS TO BEING INVISIBLE**

  1. Don’t speak unless spoken to. It gets easier with time.
  2. Don’t stand out. Dark colored clothing helps.
  3. Don’t bring any unnecessary attention to yourself. Keep your monster sneezes to a minimum.
  4. Don’t ask for help. You’ll figure it out on your own.
  5. Don’t join any clubs. That means recognition.
  6. Make good grades so that teachers don’t call home but average enough so they don’t call you out to congratulate you.
  7. Don’t retaliate when they call you names or push you. It only makes things worse.
  8. Keep a set of headphones or earbuds with you at all times. Even if you’re not listening to music, wear them so people will think you’re occupied.
  9. Keep a book with you at all times. (See commandment #8 for reasoning behind it.)
  10. Develop a numbness. Being Numb helps.




	7. Five Haikus About School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People fucking suck."

**FIVE HAIKUS ABOUT SCHOOL**

I hate school so much

It feels so fucking pointless

I don’t want to go

People are assholes

I mean, honestly, it’s true

People fucking suck

School can be lonely

I have no friends to talk to

I don’t want to go

I guess it’s my fault

The fact that I have no friends

But silence is key

I will survive it

I don’t really need any friends

But it would be nice


	8. My Old Friend Rachel Berry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…I couldn’t—wouldn’t--sit there and listen to her talk about her dads and how much they loved her when my own father wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

**MY OLD FRIEND RACHEL BERRY**

I had a friend, at one

point. It was me and her—for a

long time. We sang together,

danced together, I went over

to her house and her dads would

shower me with compliments

and everything was great.

And then I came out and

my own father stopped

loving me and it was hard being

around her and her gay dads and

all their love and acceptance and

affection so I just stopped talking

to her one day.

She was hurt—more than hurt,

she was _wounded_ deeply because we’d

been friends for years but I couldn’t—

 _wouldn’t_ sit there and listen to

her talk about her dads and how much

they loved her when my own

father wouldn’t look me in the eye.

Eventually she stopped trying, and

now she’s alone, too. She likes the

quarterback, I can tell because she doodles

his name in her journal when she

thinks no one is watching. Sometimes I pass

her in the hallway, and recently I’ve

noticed that she won’t look at me either.


	9. First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My heart stopped…”

**FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL**

I went to hell—

I mean prison—

I mean school today

and got pushed into the

lockers approximately

five times.

Then, to add to the trauma,

the teachers wanted us

to stand up and introduce

ourselves. Name age and

grade. I had to do this approximately

four times.

People don’t understand what

it means when you have

earbuds in. Desk partners still try

to talk with you. They even pull

out your earbud. This happened approximately

three times.

I had to correct my teachers

on how to say my

name, which didn’t make much

sense to me. How do you mess up

‘Blaine?’ This occurred approximately

two times.

I was sitting in algebra three when

a boy with blue eyes and

brown hair sat next to me. He smiled

at me, pink lips curling upward

in greeting. My heart stopped approximately

one time.


	10. That Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He fights back.”

**THAT BOY**

That boy wears clothes

that aren’t necessarily

masculine but they are

not feminine, either.

That boy is just as quiet

as me, but he doesn’t take

shit from anyone. He

fights back.

That boy got shoved into

a locker and all his

belongings fell out of his

bag as he cursed at his new bully.

That boy screamed when

he got hit in the

face with a strawberry

slushy. Literally screamed.

That boy looked at me

and smiled, not knowing

who I was or what I

was about.

That boy stood and

looked at the Glee

Club audition sheet for a good

four minutes before signing.

That boy just left his name

there and walked away, as

if he wanted me to go and

read it, as if he knew I was intrigued.

That boy writes in loopy,

meticulous strokes, and used

a bright green pen. He put

a smiley face next to his name.

That boy wrote out his

entire name, every letter

first, middle and last, creating

Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.


	11. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…He’s not regular.”

**KURT ELIZABETH HUMMEL**

Kind—he’s kind, which is

Unusual for a   
Regular student at

This school. But he’s not regular.

Even though he’s shoved into

Lockers he get’s back up as

If it’s nothing to him,

Zooming to his next class

And arriving on time, right

Before the bell rings—

Enough said he must be

Thinking to

Himself that he hates it here.

How does he do it—

Usually new kids are in tears, crying for their

Mothers by the end of the day, but he’s

Mastered the art of prevailing, and

Even though his back is bruised, he seems to

Let it all go and move on.


	12. Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wonder what he sounds like when he sings.”

**KURT HUMMEL AND RACHEL BERRY**

Seem to have clicked—a

good pairing, because he’s just

as eccentric as her, just quieter,

I suppose.

They walk down the

hallway with their arms

hooked together and

I remember when _we_ did that.

Sometimes she stares at

me when she thinks I’m

not paying attention. Her

eyes are sad.

They are both in Glee

Club. I wonder what he sounds

like when he sings. I realize

I’ve never heard him speak.


	13. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m a hypocrite.”

**MOTHER**

She’s there.

She makes my lunch, and

did my laundry until

I realized I didn’t want

her to see the effects

of puberty.

She’s around.

She tells me ‘have a good

day’ when I go to school and

hugs me goodbye. She

likes to caress my face when

she thinks I’m asleep.

She’s nearby.

She still cuts my

hair, the ebony curls that

won’t be tamed unless I put

a whole bunch of gel in it. She

hates it when I

do that.

She’s loving.

She doesn’t call me names—

she doesn’t hit me—

she’s okay with the whole gay

thing I have going on. She

has never called me anything

that wasn’t a term of affection.

She’s watching.

She watches my father

raise his hand and bruise my

face. She doesn’t say

anything, just turns her

head and hides her

face, as if it isn’t happening.

She’s failing.

She tries to pick me up

off the floor—I flinch

away from her. She saw it happen—

why is she trying to help

now? I don’t want her help—

don’t need it.

She’s in pain.

She cried the first time

I flinched away from her. Now she

doesn’t even try. I like

it better that way. Sometimes I

can’t bring myself to look

at her. I’m a hypocrite.

She’s there.

She’s around.

She’s nearby.

She’s loving.

She’s watching.

She’s failing.

She’s in pain.

And I can’t even look at her.


	14. Ten Artists That I Pretend to Listen to At School

**TEN ARTISTS THAT I PRETEND TO LISTEN TO AT SCHOOL**

1.Elton John

2.Amy Winehouse

3.Queen

4.Carole King

5.Alanis Morissette

6.Katy Perry (Don’t ask)

7.David Bowie

8.Anything by Sondheim

9.Tina Turner

10.The Beatles


	15. Five Books That I Pretend to Read At School

**FIVE BOOKS THAT I PRETEND TO READ AT SCHOOL**

1.Wicked

2.The Outsiders

3.The Glass Castle

4.The Secret Garden

5.Alice in Wonderland


	16. My History Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…rumor has it he doesn’t even know Spanish…”

**MY HISTORY TEACHER**

My history teacher is

weird—he tries to reach each

of us on a personal level,

by asking us questions even

when our hands aren’t raised.

He used to

be the Spanish teacher but

rumor has it he doesn’t

even know Spanish, which

makes absolutely _no_ sense.

He gave out this homework

assignment, but it’s not really

about history. It’s about _us_ ,

personally which is kind of

weird but—whatever, I guess.


	17. Rough Draft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…he’d be off, making some other person’s life a living hell.”

**Blaine Anderson**

**September 5**

**Assignment Question: What is one thing you wish you could go back in time and change?**

**Rough Draft**

If I could go

back in time and

change one thing—

I’d change the day

my mother met my father.

I’d make sure they

never even saw one another,

because then I’d have

someone else as a father.

Maybe they _would_ meet

eventually, but my mother would

be head over heels with the

guy she met instead, and

he’d be off, making some other

person’s life

a living hell.

Maybe they’d meet, and

they’d fall in love. But I’d

changed it so that they only

had Cooper, my older brother.

Maybe they’d meet, and

they’d fall in love. And they would

have Cooper and Me, but then

my father leaves, and we get

to start all over, without him.

Or maybe they’d never

meet and I wouldn’t exist—

I mean,

I’ve heard worse ideas.


	18. What I Turn In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think I’d change my own past.”

**Blaine Anderson**

**September 5**

**Assignment Question: What is one thing you wish you could go back in time and change?**

**(What I turn in.)**

There are a million things that I would go back and change if I had the opportunity to. I’m not going to pick just one. So many things. I’d make it so that gay rights wasn’t something we had to wait _so_ long for. I’d make it so that 9/11 never happened. I’d make it to where neither World War happened, canceling the Holocaust and all the chaos that ensued because of them. I’d stop the crusades, because honestly it wasn’t fair for Europe to go and destroy life and land they way they did. I would save Joan of Arc. Anne Boleyn. Kathrine Howard. Marie Antoinette. I would tell John Laurens that the war was over, and that he could stop fighting, ultimately saving his life. I’d stop the people who killed Malcom X and Dr.Martin Luther King Jr. and Medgar Evers and all of the others who died in the same way, fighting for what was _right_. I’d try to save Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse and Whitney Houston. I’d save Kennedy and Lincoln and Garfield. I’d _tackle_ the guy who shot John Lennon. Stop slavery. Keep Columbus in Europe—keep him away from all the innocent Native Americans who didn’t deserve their end.

There’s so much I could do with a time machine. So much that I could change. It’s not fair to ask me to pick just one—and you said there were no wrong answers. But I don’t think I’d change my own past. There’s so much that I could change that would help the world, and not just me. I’d help someone other than myself.


	19. Three Haikus About the Fact That I Lied On My Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I lied…”

**THREE HAIKUS ABOUT THE FACT THAT I LIED ON MY ASSIGNMENT**

I lied about that

I would not help all the world

I would help myself

I am so selfish

I would not save the whole world

I would save myself

But is it unfair

Don’t I get to be happy

Can’t I be happy


	20. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…it was from him, so I loved it.”

**GIFTS**

When I was younger

my grandfather would

bring me and

my brother gifts when

he returned from

a vacation.Usually

they were cheap

souvenirs, a stone or a snow

globe or a T-Shirt, but it

didn’t matter what it was—

it was from him, so

we loved it.

Sometimes my mom would

give us comic books she

knew we wanted or clothes—

things that would last and

make us happy. Sometimes she’d

just give us what little

about of money she had

left over from grocery shopping and

let us go spend it at the arcade. It

never mattered—

it was from her, so

we loved it.

My Grandma would knit

us sweaters and scarves and

gloves and hats—

didn’t matter what time of the

year it was, she had one ready

for us whenever

we came to visit

her. They were extremely hot,

and kind of itchy, but it

never mattered—

it was form her, so

we loved it.

Whenever I had a special occasion,

a birthday, a holiday,

an achievement, Rachel would

buy me a bowtie—it got to

the point where I had them

in every color, every

pattern and every shape—

and at first I was

weirded out, but as

time went on I began to treasure

each and every one of

them, kept them

in a special box that

I made myself, all of them

neatly arranged and it didn’t matter

if the bowtie was uglier than

the devil’s asscrack—

it was from her, so

I loved it.

Right before I came out

my father gave me a

journal, bound in

leather, the pages

slightly yellowed and

the lines fading, but

unused. It was a black,

unremarkable looking thing—

you wouldn’t look twice at it,

but when I saw it I was

thrilled and excited—

it was from him, so

I loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that this story was inspired by The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo. it's an amazing book and I recommend it to all of you.


	21. Black Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I turned and saw blue eyes..."

**BLACK BIRD**

I sit next to Kurt

Hummel in Algebra Three—

we share a desk. It’s the

type of class that I pretend

to read a book or pretend

to listen to music in, because

our teacher fucking sucks, and we

don’t really learn anything, anyway.

Kurt usually draws during this

useless class, sketches of

clothes or song lyrics. Sometimes he’ll

read a book, everything from

Vonnegut to John Green—I didn’t

think him a fan of either, but

he buries himself in his books

and doesn’t look up until the

bell rings.

One day, I don’t really remember

the date—September 30th—I

was pretending to be tuned out,

my headphones canceling

out any and every noise

that was being made in the classroom,

when I felt someone touching

my arm.

I turned, and saw blue eyes—wide

and curious—and an unreadable

expression on his face. I pulled

the headphones off my head—

suddenly my hands

were sweating and my heart

was racing and I didn’t know why

but I hated myself for being

so nervous.

He looked at me for a

long minute, as if

he was trying to

figure out

what he was going to say.

“ _Black bird singing in the dead of night_

_take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_all your life…you were only waiting_

_for this moment to arrive_ ,”

He sang the words to me, his

voice higher than I had expected,

but enticing. I leaned in to hear him

better, but he’d stopped

singing. “I’m Kurt,”

he said. “Your music is loud—

I’m sorry for eavesdropping.”

I didn’t respond immediately,

but eventually the words

found their way out

of the back of my

throat. “Blaine,” I said

dumbly. “It’s—

it’s okay. You weren't

eavesdropping or

anything like that.”

He nodded, and then

turned back to his copy of

Slaughterhouse Five. I wanted

to put my headphones back on, to

continue as though nothing had

happened, because that’s

what he was doing but

I just wanted to know

everything about him—

and I couldn’t stop looking at

him—and he kept

looking at me and—

and—

and—

the bell rang.


	22. I Don't Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i don't care that the boy I am so intrigued by is her new best friend."

**I DON’T CARE**

I think they’re best

friends now. Which is—it’s

fine. I don’t care.

I don’t care that she

kisses Kurt

on the cheek the

same way she

used to kiss me

on mine before she

went off to class.

I don’t care that they

help one another clean slushy

off each other—Rachel would

pull Kurt into the

Girl’s bathroom and

he’d come back stained but

clean—the way we used to

do it.

I don’t care that

she doesn’t seem like

she misses me as

much anymore—why

would I give a shit about

that?

I don’t care that the boy

I’m so intrigued by is

her new best friend. I’m

happy for them—I can say

it out loud, even, with my face

pulled into this sour expression

and my teeth gritted and

tears pooling in my

eyes because I saw

her gift him a scarf, which

he wears proudly

the next day, the same

way I would with

my bowties.

I don’t care at all.


	23. CAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, fuck. He really has come to kill me. I’m going to die here."

**CAR**

I don’t have a

car. I usually catch a ride

from Cooper, but he’s off

in LA right now—doing

God knows what, with

Lord knows who. He’s going to need

Jesus by the time it’s all over.

My mother is a nurse, and

usually she’s off to

work as soon as

I’m headed out the door,

her scrubs with the little cartoons

and almost fashionable

slide in shoes make their way

to the door as soon as I’ve

stepped out.

So I walk. It’s not

a long way

to McKinley, and unless

it’s summer,

it’s not too hot. So

I trek my way across streets

and down sidewalks

until I end up in hell—

I mean prison—

I means school.

I was about to start that daily

journey when my father

suddenly put his heavy

hand on my

shoulder. I immediately

stiffened, unable to move

an inch. _Breathe_ , I told

myself. _Fucking breathe._

I was so focused on my

breathing that I didn’t

hear his first few

words. Suddenly his

heavy hand was shaking my

shoulder, trying to get

my attention.

“Blaine,” he said. I snap

my head in his direction, swallowing

thickly, hating myself for

how my hands trembled. “Why

don’t you skip school

today—I’ll

write you an excuse.”

I nod absently, trying

to figure out his

reasoning, what kind

of trap this was—

what did he have

planned, was he finally

going to wrap his heavy

hands around my

throat and

kill me?

I get into his car, I’m

sure he can hear my

heart—I’m sure it’s going

to beat right out of

my chest

through my ribcage and

my skin and land

 _splat_ all over

his windshield.

But he doesn’t say

anything, we just ride

and ride and ride and fucking

 _ride_ until we

arrive at this old beaten

down garage with

shady looking guys

in it—there are American

Flags everywhere, a deer’s

head on the wall. I spot a

confederate flag in a _frame_ —

Oh, fuck. He really has

come to kill me. I’m going to

die here.

I got out of the car

as quickly as I could,

hands shaking and tears

welling and breathing—

hyperventilating—and

those guys are looking at

me like I’ve grown three heads but

I couldn’t give

less of a shit. I fucking run, my

feet pounding against the

cracked asphalt, everything

I brought with me left

in the car—I can’t call

911—

“ _Blaine_!”

I heard his voice, loud and

deep and thundering in

a way I don’t think mine could

ever be, and oh God we’re so

far from home how will

they find me? Will they know

where to look? What about

Mom? Cooper?

Rachel?

Hands close around my

torso, lifting me off of the ground—

I’m kicking and

screaming and crying

and I’ve never heard myself

like this before.

I bite. I claw. I kick.

“You’re not going to kill

me,” I scream. The men in

the garage must be

entertained by this—their

prey begging for his life.

My father’s body goes

slack, as if I’ve stabbed him

in the stomach. “You think I’m

going to kill you?” He sounds wounded,

like I’ve hurt him.

I take a deep breath. _Breathe_.

_Fucking breathe._

“I—I panicked,” I said, twisting away

from him. He’s so much

bigger than me, with big

brown eyes and dark hair just

like mine, but his skin is white

and pale and his nose and lips are

thinner than mine. I close my eyes

for a second. _Breathe_.

_Fucking breathe._

“Come on, Blaine,” he said. He leads

me back up to the

garage, where all the shady

guys are. I walk slowly, but

eventually we make it there. I realize

then that I’m not going to die,

and I’m embarrassed.

“Blaine,” my dad breathes

out. “Blaine,” he says again. It

sounds like my name is hurting

him. “We are going to build

you a car.”


	24. Grease—Oil—Or Is It Just Grime?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m pretty sure it’s embedded into my skin, this disgusting smell."

**GREASE—OIL—OR IS IT JUST GRIME?**

'It gets under your

nails, making them look

black and dirty and

disgusting, and don’t get

it on your face. For the love of

all that’s fucking holy, don’t

get that shit on your face. It leaves

a big, ugly, intimidating white

head in the middle of your forehead,

and then you don’t even want to

go to school the next day

because it looks like

a snow capped volcano

is on your face and could explode

at any moment.

It smells disgusting—I mean,

it’s like this never ending, consuming,

absorbing smell that

leaves me smelling like

I just left from the inside

of an exhaust pipe—and it’s in my

clothes, my hair—

I’m pretty sure it’s embedded

into my skin, this disgusting smell.

It stains anything you own—

don’t wear anything valuable. I lost

my best pair of boots, and all

the guys did was laugh at me,

and my dad was laughing and everyone

was laughing except for me, who had

to buy a new pair of shoes.

That shit is the spawn of

Satan. Don’t go near it, it’s not

worth a new car.


	25. Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes he watches me..."

**LEGS**

Kurt and I,

we share a desk.

I’ve said this before,

and I probably sound

stupid or whatever, but

I am so glad we

share a desk. It gives

us this small

amount of

intimacy, the type that

comes with desk partners.

He smells like vanilla

and lavender. I smell like

car engine. I pretend to read

or pretend to listen to music or

write in my little black journal and he

reads and listens to music and

draws and writes down notes

and sometimes he just sits there.

Sometimes he watches me, that

same curious expression on

his face. Sometimes I wonder if

Rachel ever told him anything about me,

if he knows about me at all. There’s a

little bit of red dye around his hairline

from a slushy facial he must have received

this morning. But his eyes are

undaunted, and he’s just sitting there,

looking at me.

Then, he slowly, almost imperceptibly

moves his leg over to

the side, towards mine. I look down,

thinking he’s just

shifting in his seat, when he moves it

a little further, until they’re almost

touching. He looks at me,

his eyes asking a simple question:

_Is this okay?_

I nod. I move my leg over,

until it’s touching his, and I can

feel every nerve ending in my body

and how they’re all ablaze and

reacting.

And we don’t say anything;

we just sit there, with our legs

touching, and he keeps

stealing glances at me

and I keep staring at him and

my heart is going to

beat right out of my

chest, fuck a rib cage, it’s

going to just jump out and

land _splat_ into his hand.


	26. Barry, Ian, and Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe he can smell the Asian on me."

**BARRY, IAN, AND STEVE**

Barry is large—bigger than

lard. He’s fucking enormous,

with an Anchor tattooed on his

arm and a blue jean jacket with

the sleeves ripped off at all times.

He has these almost violet blue eyes

that would be striking if he

didn’t look so fucking scary. He’s

actually kind of

nice if you decide not to

count the fact that he’s friends

with my father—and the fact

that he owns the shop, which

has a _framed_ confederate flag

in it. Maybe he wouldn’t be

as nice if he knew I was

half Filipino.

Ian is tall and skinny, with

black hair and black eyes and

he wears coveralls every fucking day—

I think that’s all he owns. He’s

not very nice, and has literally

said only four words to me

since we’ve met—which was

two weeks ago. Maybe he can smell

the Asian on me.

Steve is short and stocky, with

flaming red hair and

green eyes. He wears a white

wife-beater and a pair of cargo

shorts, sometimes the shorts

are black, other times they're khaki—

I think it depends on his mood. He’s

the nicest out all of them, always

cracking jokes and

slapping me on my back

in that way that's supposed to

be friendly but really just kind of

hurts.


	27. Half Asian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But when you look at me, really look at me, you can see it."

**HALF ASIAN**

It’s not something I

normally talk about—not

really something people

notice, until they

see my mother. You can

tell they had no clue, and

are trying to figure out how

she ended up with

me—they look to Cooper for

an idea, but he won’t

help them any because he’s my half

brother. So they

think in their heads

 _is he adopted_? But when

you look at me, _really_ look

at me, you can see it.

I have my father’s eyes, color

wise, but I have my mother’s eye

shape. My father’s hair is

straight, whereas mine is curly—my

skin is darker than his, especially in

the summer time. I’m fairly

shorter than my father, and

in a million different ways

I look like both of my parents—

neither of them could deny

me as their child.

I don’t hide the fact that

I’m half asian. For a long

time, it was never an

issue, until I realized what

 _white_ was, and what _asian_ and

 _black_ and _hispanic_ and _native-American_

and I realized that there wasn’t

quite a spot for me until I learned

what _biracial_ meant, and then

I was even more confused—

I look white, but I’m not…do I put

biracial? Do I put white? Asian?

I check the ‘other’ box, and in big, bold,

capital letters I write: **HUMAN**


	28. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want him to know me, to understand me."

**NOTES**

Kurt and I, we don’t

talk to one another. We

just sit in Algebra 3, with

our legs touching and my

heart beating faster than normal.

He still didn’t talk to me

very often, just drew and

read and listened to music

of his own,

his long, slender,

sexy— _um_ —

leg touching mine

under our table,

and my mind wonders

what his lips taste

like, what his would

hand feel like in mine—

and I realize,

that I’ve never felt this way

about a boy before—never kissed

anyone, except for

Rachel—long story—and that

certainly didn’t count.

I wanna know how his

lips feel, what his

hair would feel if I ran

my fingers through it.

I want him to know me,

to understand me. To get

why I am the way I am.

And then every single

one of those ideas

come crashing down because

I’m a fucking coward, and

I remember why I became this

way in the first place. The minute

I let anyone in, boy or girl, let

them into this shit-hole

I call my life, they will

run away screaming.

He doesn’t seem like he’s

not interested in me,

maybe I should try—

At least give him a warning.

He just put his sketchpad down—

 _don’t do this_.

I grab the pencil that

was sitting in front of me.

_Don’t you fucking dare._

You should have seen his face when

I grabbed his sketchbook. His eyes

got so huge, it was almost comical.

_What in the holy hell are you_

_doing?!_

I turn to the very back page,

careful not to mess up

any of his sketches.

_Stop._

In scrawling letters, because

my hand is shaking violently,

I write.

**Hi. I’m Blaine.**

_You dumb fuck, he already_

_knows that._

**Do you want to hang out**

**after school today?**

His eyebrows quirk,

just a little. His lips

curl into a small smile.

He takes the pencil from me,

our fingers brushing for a second—

**_Sure._ **


	29. The Lima Bean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're worth getting to know, Blaine."

**THE LIMA BEAN**

We walk

to the Lima Bean

after the final bell. He’s

wearing painted on turquoise

pants and a purple

shirt, with silver sneakers

that make his outfit

 _pop._ He’s walking a tad bit

faster than me, but that

makes sense, because

he’s taller than me—

I kind of like that.

When we get there

we order our coffee and

then we sit down in a corner,

and his eyes are on me,

waiting for me to speak, but

words aren’t there and I can’t

really breathe.

“Are you okay, Blaine?” he

asks, concerned. I nod, put

a hand against my chest, steadying

myself. _Breathe. Fucking breathe._

“I’m—I’m okay. Sorry…I’m

just…uh—I’ve haven’t

done anything like this

in about two years,” I say

and he nods, but I can tell

he’s curious. “I used to come

here with Rachel,” I blurt.

He nods, but doesn’t say

anything. I’m thankful for that—

if he starts needling I might

just get up from

this table and run home.

When he finally does speak,

it’ s after a long sip of his latte.

“So, what are you always writing

down in that journal

of yours?”

I almost spit out the coffee

I wasn’t even really drinking. He

chuckles softly

at my bewilderment, but

I know that he really wants

an answer. I swallow thickly.

“Um—poems and songs

and uh—just little journal entries

about my family

and school

and life

in general, I guess,” I manage,

and he nods. “Nobody’s—

nobody’s ever asked me about

it before.”

Kurt smiled at that. My

heart sputtered. I took

a sip of my coffee, immediately

regretting it because I didn’t

put any milk or sugar or

anything in it and it tastes like

complete shit.

“I know you’re not

going to read me anything

right now, but I’d love

to hear them sometime,” he says.

He’s right—I

_won’t_

read him anything right now—

and that’s my completely valid

and fair

decision to make. But

he said ‘sometime,’

which means he may want

to do this again,

despite the

mess

that I’ve been.

“I’d like that,” I say, and he

smiled completely this time. “But—

I feel like I asked you to come

here and then I was so

weird and rude and

quiet and awkward—you’re

not freaked out?” I know I’m

shooting myself in the foot,

bringing up all

my shortcomings

but like I said,

I needed to warn

him, because I’m an entire mess

and he’s about to get waist

deep into it.

“Blaine, I know your story,” he

said. I shake my head. He

doesn’t know me or my story. “At

least what Rachel has told me, and

despite her victimizing

herself, I know why

you did what you did, and

I understand that.” I can’t breathe

again. _Breathe. Fucking breathe_.

My hand is sitting on

top of the table, next to

my phone and my journal

and my shitty, shitty cup of

coffee. He reaches over and

takes it—his hand is softer and a

little bit bigger than

mine. It feels

like it should have always

been there, and I blink

really hard and take

a shaking breath and

swallow thickly because

my eyes are burning and

I don’t want a wet face

in front of him.

“I’m—I have a lot

of problems,” I say. “I’m

not going to pretend

that I don’t. I just

don’t want to pull you in—

let you see—and then you

run away screaming, because

I have finally freaked you out—”

“I’m not leaving. And

I’ve had my own demons

before,” he says. I can’t imagine

anything bothering

Kurt, anything bringing him

all the way down, but

maybe it has. He has

this haunted look in his eyes,

his own story that

he has tucked away. I hope

he tells it one day. “I want

to get to know you—not

because you're the only

other gay guy at McKinley. But

because you’re so undeniably

 _you_ and you’re quiet and mysterious

and you’re actually really cute

if you’d wear something other

than black and gray,” he laughs.

I force a laugh, too. I take

a deep breath. “Thank you,

Kurt.”

“You’re worth getting

to know, Blaine.” And that’s when

my face is wet, and my eyes are

burning and I can’t control

my bottom lip because it’s

just quivering about like it

has its own mind. He grips my

hand tighter, and then

stands up and leads

me out of the coffee shop. We’re

outside and he’s hugging me and I

can’t breathe and he walks me

home, still holding my hand.

And I let myself hope, even if it’s a thing with feathers.


	30. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My heart isn’t going to beat out of my chest, it’s just been ripped out and trampled on."

**A MEETING**

When I get home, my

father is waiting in the front

yard, waiting for me, so

we can go

build my car. Kurt sees him

lets go of my hand before

he notices. My father looks at

him for a long minute, an unreadable

expression on his face.

“Who’s your friend, Blaine?” He

asks, his voice is taunting

and I want to vomit and Kurt

nudges me a little, to reassure

or to get me to respond,

I can’t say.

“This is Kurt,” I say. Kurt walks

me all the way

up my driveway, head

held high. “Nice to meet you,

sir,” he says. My dad smirks at

his voice, high and sweet—perfect

to me but my father may think

otherwise. Kurt holds

out his hand to shake, and

my father looks at it for a while

before taking

it and gripping it too hard,

I can tell by how

red Kurt’s hand is

when he lets go, but Kurt

stands his ground.

“Blaine,” my father says. “Would

your friend like to

come with us to the

garage today?” I start to

respond, but Kurt beats me to

it. “I’d love to,” he said. I look

at him in alarm, confused

and scared for him, but Kurt

just brushes off his

turquoise pants. “I

just need to go grab

my coveralls from my house.

I don’t live too far from here, actually.”

He begins to walk back down

the driveway, but my father calls

for him to stop. My heart is going

to beat out of my chest and land

 _splat_ on the concrete.

“We’ll give you a ride, son,” he

says. My heart isn’t going

to beat out of my

chest, it’s just been ripped out

and trampled on. My father

hasn’t called me ‘son’ in

two years. And he called Kurt—

who was wearing turquoise

pants that were cuffed

at the ankle, purple V-neck

shirt, sparkly silver shoes,

perfect hair, _Kurt_ , son.

I take a deep breath, because

I refuse to cry in front

of my father, but I feel

like I’ve been gutted and I

know, I _know_ what my father

is doing but I hate him for

it anyway and I resent Kurt,

even though he’s done absolutely

 _nothing_ wrong and

even though he touches my hand

in the backseat of

my dad’s car, I don’t

respond to it.

Numb.

Numb it all out.


	31. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It burns, like a never ending hellfire, but no need for arguing, it’ll happen again."

**NUMB**

Every living thing

learns to adapt. Adaptation

is necessary, or you

will not survive. There

is a moment in life

when you adapt to

the most horrible things,

when you become

numb to them, when

they no longer affect you

the way they used to. It

may sting at first, but you

learn to hold the tears

back. No need for tears,

it’s happened before.

It burns, eating at

your insides like acid,

but no need for tears,

it’ll happen again.

You want to argue,

something deep down

is telling you to argue,

to let all your anger

just fall out.

To say something you’ll

never be able to take back.

To say something that

needs to be said,

but again, you’ll

never be able to take it back.

So you keep quiet. No

need for arguing,

it’s happened before.

It may sting at first,

but you learn to

hold the words

back. It burns,

like a never ending hellfire,

but no need for arguing,

it’ll happen again.

Breaking down is not

a part of adaptation.

Breaking down means

you are not numb to it. You

cannot let it hurt you. You

can’t let it break you. Because

if you shatter,

there will be years of

picking up your pieces.

You’ll keep picking

them up, until you’ve

glued yourself back together,

but you’re even more fragile.

So you stay put together. No

need for breaking down,

it’s happened before.

It may sting at first,

but you learn to pull yourself together.

It burns,

ripping you up inside,

but no need for breaking down,

it’ll happen again.

Help is not a valid

addition to adaptation.

Help involves other people. You

cannot let them in. You

cannot let them in because

then they’ll see you,

and they’ll know you. They’ll

know the you that hides beneath

the mask.

You cannot let that happen. With

everyone, you keep a mask.

The layers of it vary, depending

on your level of trust, but

you don’t let anyone see you.

If you ask for help, they’ll

see you. They cannot

see you. No one can truly

know you. So you build

your walls. Keep them there.

Be independent. It makes you strong.

No need for help,

it’s happened before.

It may sting at first, but

you learn that help isn’t necessary.

It burns,

gnawing at you like a creature

eating you alive,

but no need for help,

it’ll happen again.

You become numb. Numbness

is vital to adaptation. You

cannot feel it. You cannot

let it get to you. You must

learn to build your

walls up, to let them

make you, to let them

create you. You cannot

create them, because then

you’ll let them down.

You must let that numbness

take over, let it consume you.

If you are not numb, you

will cry. If you are not numb,

you will argue. If you are

not numb, you will break

down. If you are not numb,

you will ask for help.

You must be numb.

You need numbness

because

it’s happened before.

It stings, no it

more than stings,

it hurts at first, but you

become invincible. It burns,

like you’re losing

and you keep losing

and no matter

how hard you fight,

how hard you try,

it still fucking burns. But

you need the numbness,

it’ll happen again.

And again.

And again.

And again. An

endless cycle

until the adaptation

is complete, until

you no longer notice.

Until it doesn’t sting at first.

It takes hours,

days,

months,

years.

It takes

forever.

But it happens.

It’ll take over eventually.


	32. Who Knew?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His head is high, but his hands are shaking."

**WHO KNEW?**

Kurt quickly runs

into his house and comes

back out, changed from

bright colors to gray, grease—

oil— _grime_ stained coveralls, and

a black beanie covering

his chestnut colored hair. Somehow

he still looks great.

He tries to hold my

hand again, but I’m

still upset from

earlier and I think he can

sense it. He leaves me

alone. I’m grateful for

it.

We arrive at the

garage and Kurt’s eyes

get so wide

I think they’re going

to pop out of

his head. He sees the

guys, Barry, Ian, and Steve and

looks at me. I shrug, and he looks

at the confederate flag. He

looks back at me. “I thought you

were Asian?”

I ignore that. But

he’s right. Why _is_ my

father friends with these people?

Anyway, Kurt slowly

makes his way

into the garage, his

feet dragging against

the concrete. His

head is high, but his

hands are shaking.

Steve claps me on the

back and I wince and smile

at the same time. He looks

at Kurt for a while before holding

his greasy—oily—grimy

hand out

for him to shake. Kurt

shakes it, and then introduces

himself. Ian’s eyebrows

almost fly off his face

when he hears Kurt’s high

voice, but he doesn’t say anything.

Barry smirks as if he

has something planned.

And then Kurt starts working

on the car, and everyone’s

jaw drops, including mine. He

immediately begins working

on the engine, twisting

this and that, using this

wrench and that one,

all the while singing quietly

to himself.

He works until his hands

are almost black with

the stuff and it’s dark out

and it’s time for everyone to

go home. My father doesn’t

look pleased. Whatever

he had planned to

humiliate Kurt didn’t

go to plan. I think

the boy knows more about

cars than my father does.


	33. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We’d eat so much of it that my mother would fuss and tell us we were going to get sick..."

**ICE CREAM**

Ever since I was little,

my father would buy

a tub of ice cream and he’d

split it with me after

we came home from a day

out. It was always

vanilla, always a gallon.

We’d eat so much of it

that my mother would fuss

and tell us we were

going to get sick, and my

father would mutter under

his breath about her nagging.

We’d eat and eat and eat

until the tub of ice cream was

gone, and I felt like

I was going to freeze to

death from the chill of it.

It stopped when I came

out—everything stopped

when I came out.

But today, he pulls a

tub of vanilla ice cream

from the freezer and

hands me a spoon—the

same way he used to when

I was younger. I stare

at him for a long time

before he looks at me and shrugs.

“Dig in, son,” he says and my heart

stutters. “I can’t eat it all by myself.”


	34. Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...he’s going to open my Pandora’s Box and run away screaming..."

**WORTH IT**

The next day,

I’m sitting next to Kurt

in Algebra Three and our legs

are touching, and he’s drawing and

I’m actually reading

Harry Potter and everything is

fine but I can’t help

wonder how Kurt knew

so much about cars

and why he had coveralls

and why his hands

were so sure, working in

the engine.

It made me think about

all the things I

don’t know about him,

all the things he doesn’t

know about me, and

that I want to know him

so badly. I want to know

his favorite color, his

birthday, his

favorite flavor of ice-cream.

But I don’t want to let

him get to close, because

one day he’s

going to open my Pandora’s

Box and run away screaming at

everything inside of it. He’s

going to open my closet

and see all the skeletons, and

he’s going to run away screaming.

But something deep down

inside of me is telling me

that even if he does end up leaving

in the end, that the heart ache would

be worth it. The amount of

time with him would

be so worth it. He’d make

my life worth living—

until I finally scare him off.

Perhaps. Perchance. Maybe. Possibly. Who knows?


	35. Son

**SON**

After I came out, my father

stopped calling me son.

It wasn’t something I noticed at

first—no, the realization took

some time. But then

it just kind of kicked in,

and I realized that he’d call

Cooper ‘son’ and then

he wouldn’t even look at me.

I got over it, of

course.

…

As a sort of revenge

I stopped calling him

Dad. Instead I call

him My Father. In my

head at least, I guess.

But he called me Son when

we were eating ice cream,

and he’s been nicer and

he hasn’t hit me

in a while and

maybe he’s finally

accepting me

and is gonna love

me, despite our

differences.

I shouldn’t be as excited

as I am to have him

love me again, and maybe

I’m just playing myself, and

getting my hopes up only

for him to drag me back down and

laugh as he does so, I know

it’s bound to happen, but

I have to admit

that I miss him

and I want my Dad back…

not this monster that

I call My Father.


	36. Scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He doesn’t hide, because he’s proud..."

**SCARVES**

It’s October and it’s colder than

usual because we live in

Ohio, so I wear more

hats and Kurt—

he wears more scarves.

I’m sure he has them in

every single color, and every

style and print and texture and

he wears a different one

every single day.

We get coffee at least

three times a week, and

we talk about books and

musicals and coffee and

music.

It’s particularly cold

out today, and I subconsciously

start to shiver and he

reaches into his bag

and pulls out a scarf.

It’s a pretty garment, midnight

blue, almost black and it’s kind

of silky and smooth and he

wraps it around my

neck before I can protest.

“You shouldn’t have any

objections, anyway,” he

says. “It’s almost black,

even though green is

much more your color.”

I want to tell him

why I dress the way I

do, why I stopped wearing

color, but then I think

I’d seem cowardly.

He has the same

issues I do. He’s openly gay,

just like me. Gets

shoved into lockers,

the same as I do.

But he still comes to

school every day

with his head held high

and his neon yellow

scarves.

He doesn’t hide, because

he’s proud. And I’m

not—

It occurred to me that

I’m not proud.

_Huh_.


	37. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rachel gave me a rainbow bowtie, and I wore it for a week straight."

**PRIDE**

From a young age, I

was taught humility. Grandma

drilled it into me, my

mom drilled it into me,

Cooper subconsciously drilled

it into me every time he bested me.

The only person who ever

told me to have some pride was

my father. “You are an Anderson,”

he’d say, with his whole chest. And

for a while, that was the only thing I

was proud of.

Then I learned I could sing,

I made straight A’s. I could dance and I could

sew and I had one of the most

talented people in the world as my best friend.

It was cool, but I wasn’t

necessarily _proud_ of it.

And then I came out. And I was

 _so_ proud of it. Rachel gave me

a rainbow bowtie, and I wore it

for a week straight. One day, my

father slapped me and

ripped the thing off my neck.

“Stop being so _flamboyant_ ,”

he said. “Bad enough I’ve

got a fairy for a son,

I don’t need him to

rub it in my face

every five seconds.”

My jaw worked back

and forth for a while, trying

to recover from the

blow. I wiped my tears

on the sleeve of my cardigan.

The bowtie was just laying there.

I picked it up, and forced

myself to walk to my

bedroom. I changed

out of my clothes, put

on a black T-shirt and some

gray sweatpants.

I put the bowtie in the

box with the rest of them and

shoved it into the back

of my closet—ironically—and

then sat on my bed

and wept.

I cried there for a long

time. I don’t know why

that moment was my breaking

point, don’t know why

it hurt so much. I just

know that it did.

That box of bowties is

still tucked away in my

closet, behind all the

skeletons and broken

hearts. One of the skeletons is

named Pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually NEVER write fics in 1st person POV, but I don't think this one would work if it wasn't in first person. Ya'll don't mind do you? I appreciate feedback and constructive criticism, don't be afraid to comment!   
> Thanks  
> Ally xx


	38. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am rebelling, always..."

**BLACK**

Black—

The absorption or the absence of

light, a void of color,

darkness—

The color of

grief and death and

fear—

An void,

empty—

But—

It is also—

The color of

power and rebellion and

sophistication—

A void,

full—

Black

The color of my clothes—

to show how I feel—

the inner turmoil—

the pain—

the triumph—

the rebellion that lives within

me—

I am grieving my father’s love—

I am afraid that I’ll lose everything—

I try my best to be empty so that nothing will hurt anymore—

My words make me powerful—

I am rebelling, always—

I am full of feelings and emotions soon to spill over—

Black—

Maybe I should wear red—

I’m kind of angry.


	39. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want him to touch me on my leg..."

**TOUCH**

Kurt touches me a

lot, on my shoulder

or arm or hand.

I want him to

touch me

on my leg or my

face or my

neck.

Somewhere more

intimate, like you do

when you are in

a relationship.

I want to be

in a relationship with

Kurt—

O _h fuck._


	40. Touch Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And he's standing right there..."

**TOUCH PART TWO**

_Fuck_.

Now that I’ve said it

I know it’s true, and I

want it.

I want him to hold

my hand non-platonically.

I want him to rest a

hand on my leg, casually.

I want him to kiss me

whenever he wants.

I want him to touch me.

I want to touch him.

And he’s standing right

there—right now and I—

“Kurt,” I say. Out loud. Right now.

He looks at me, clear blue eyes.

And I can’t breathe.

_Breathe. Fucking breathe. BREATHE!_

“ _Kurt,_ ” I say again, my voice thick and

he stops looking at me, and I think

he’s going to call for help—

“No! I’m—I’m okay,” I

manage. He sighs.

I’m trying to come up with

an excuse. He’s still looking at

me. I reach out and touch

his face, an impulse that I

wouldn’t usually give in

to, but fuck my walls and

limits and boundaries—

“You’re beautiful,” I say.

His face gets red, a flush

that spreads from his neck all the

way to the tips of his ears

and I can feel the skin heat

up beneath my fingers.

His teeth tease his bottom

lip, eyes shy and warm.

“So are you.”


	41. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fucking hate myself—"

**BEAUTIFUL**

I still cannot breathe

and it’s for entirely

different reasons.

He called me

beautiful. Me.

This mess of limbs

and skin and bone

and hair and fucked up

thoughts and fucked up

feelings and fucked up

life.

He called _me_

beautiful. Me.

And he’s a beautifully

sculpted person—

with perfect skin

and perfect lips

and perfect

everything.

He called me

beautiful.

“Me?”

And then he’s touching

my face, too, running

a thumb just under my

eye. I’m crying.

He called me

beautiful.

“Of course, you,” he says. And

his face is so close to mine.

And I realize why he

intrigued me so much

in the beginning.

I was never meeting

him. I was remembering him

from somewhere, and I’d

been looking for him forever.

Our faces are so close.

Kissing—

I could kiss him. I’m

pretty sure he’d let me,

maybe even kiss me back.

He called me

beautiful.

Kissing him would

ruin everything.

Kissing him would

fix everything.

I think I’d lose my father

for good.

I think I’d find

myself.

Which matters to me

more?

My father, who raised

me—who I love,

who’s coming back around.

Me, who has lived

unhappily—who I need to love,

who’s so close to being whole.

And I hate myself—

I hate myself—

I fucking hate myself—

Because I’m going to

lose my

father for good.

Because his face is

right there, and his eyes

are burning into

mine

and—

“You—You _move_ me,

Kurt,” is all I can

manage before

colliding my

face with his.

And we are

beautiful.


	42. Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’d imagined soft lips, moving against mine."

**KISSING**

I’ve thought of kissing

a boy—of course I

have.

Before, I’d only ever kissed

Rachel Berry— _eek_.

I’d imagined a hand on

my face, strong and sure.

I’d imagined soft lips,

moving against mine.

I’d imagined a boy,

of course.

I hadn’t anticipated Kurt’s

hand, strong and sure, yes

but also guiding and comforting.

I hadn’t anticipated Kurt’s

mouth opening and letting

me in.

I hadn’t anticipated Kurt

pushing me back, until my

back was against the tree we’re under.

I hadn’t anticipated liking

it so much.

I hadn’t anticipated

Kurt.


	43. A Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My father looks at me, eyes searching, for what, I don’t know."

**A QUESTION**

The walk home

is filled with giggling,

and he’s holding my hand

tighter than usual.

I’m constantly paralyzed

from the need to kiss

him again.

We see my father, waiting

for me as usual. Kurt lets

go of my hand.

I almost grab it back, but—

He doesn’t mind—does

he? He gets it? Is his father

like mine?

My father greets me, nods

at Kurt. Kurt smiles and turns

to leave.

My father looks at me, eyes

searching, for what, I don’t know.

“How’s Rachel doing?”

The fucked up part

is that I have

no idea.


	44. Miss Rachel Berry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rachel looks between us, confused. “You two know one another?”"

**MISS RACHEL BERRY**

She’s standing next to

Kurt, who’s eyebrows

reach his hairline

when he sees me walking

towards them.

I smile at him, and he

smiles back. Rachel looks

between us, confused. “You

two know one another?”

I nod, and she still looks

a little confused, but

I start talking before she

can bombard me with questions.

“Hi, Rachel,” I say,

and she nods, eyes downcast. “I—

could— _shit_ …would you maybe

come with me

to the Lima Bean for

coffee? So we could talk?”

I see Kurt nod, encouraging.

Rachel looks at me for a

long time. “I shouldn’t,” she says

and I understand. I turn to go.

“But I will.”

I can’t hide my smile.


	45. Words for Rachel Berry That I Can't Say Out Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn’t tell you, but..."

**WORDS FOR RACHEL BERRY THAT I CAN’T SAY OUT LOUD**

I’m sorry

I hurt you. I

didn’t mean to, I

swear. It was hard,

coming out.

I didn't tell you, but

my dad started hitting

me.

I didn’t tell you, but

I had bruises from

being thrown into lockers.

I didn’t tell you, but

they’d call me names

that I can’t repeat to you.

I didn’t tell you, but

it was all too much

all at once.

I didn’t tell you, but

I wanted to die, it

didn’t matter how.

I didn’t tell you, but

I hated you because

you were happy.

I didn’t tell you, but

I hated myself because

I was unhappy.

I didn’t tell you.

There’s so much

I need to tell you.

There’s so much

that I have to say.

But it begins with “I miss you.”


	46. What I Tell Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, I’m still gay. What the hell, Rachel?”

**WHAT I TELL HER**

“I miss you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was going through a lot.”

“It wasn’t fair of me not to tell you.”

“I love you.”

“No, Kurt and I are not dating.”

_I don’t think?_

“My mom is doing fine.”

“No, I don’t want to sing a duet right now.”

“I missed you, too.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Please forgive me.”

“Glee club? What is that?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, I’m still gay. What the hell, Rachel?”

“I guess I’ll have dinner at your house.”

“Kurt’s going to be there?”

“Yes. I will wear a bowtie.”


	47. Mr. and Mr. Berry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m going to have to explain myself..."

**MR. AND MR. BERRY**

Are two of the

nicest people I have

ever met in my

entire life.

That doesn’t mean

I want to have dinner

with them. It’s an

entire mess.

They make you

sing and dance and

I really don’t

want to do that.

They ask you personal

questions, and if

you don’t answer, they

somehow pry it out of you.

They’re going to

ask me where I’ve

been, why I haven’t

been around.

I’m going to have

to explain myself

to these amazing men

who I resented for so long.

I told Rachel I

was going to go,

though. I promised

her I would.

So I put on a black

dress shirt, a

black blazer, and

a fire engine red bowtie.

My father’s eyes are

wide as I leave

the house, without

a word.


	48. A Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I haven't sang in so long. I don't know what I’ll sound like.

**A SOLO**

Dinner starts with a song,

as always. Kurt and Rachel

go first, and are stunning. I

smile the entire time. And then

every single Berry plus a

Hummel is forcing me

to the front of the room,

no one to duet with, just

me. I haven't sang in

so long. I don't know what

I’ll sound like.

But I open my mouth as

Mr.Berry plays the first

few chords, and I feel so stupid

because this is a

Katy Perry song—

_“You think I’m pretty_

_without any makeup on_

_you think I’m funny_

_when I tell the punchline wrong…”_

I can’t meet anyone’s eyes, but

I can feel them looking

at me, and I can practically

 _hear_ Rachel’s smile. I take a deep

breath. _Breathe. Fucking breathe._

Kurt’s looking at me, as I’m

singing, and it’s hard to

focus on the song when he’s

looking at me like that. But I somehow

make it to the chorus.

_“Let’s go all the way tonight_

_no regrets_

_just love—_

_we can dance, until we die_

_you and I_

_We’ll be young forever…_

_You make me feel like I’m_

_living a_

_teenage dream_

_the way you turn me on_

_I can’t sleep—_

_Let’s run away and don’t_

_ever look back_

_don’t ever look back…”_

I keep singing until the

piano fades out and its over—

a hug from Rachel and a pat

on the back from the

Misters Berry. Kurt is

quiet.

Before I can ask him

anything, LeRoy Berry

has pulled me to the side.

_Ah, fuck. Here come the questions._


	49. A Conversation in the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I know that I’m lying—"

**A CONVERSATION IN THE KITCHEN**

He pulls me into the kitchen,

under the guise of me

helping him with the food—

despite the fact that

he’s known me for most of

my life and knows I can’t

cook worth a damn.

“I’m proud of you, Blaine,” he

says. I look at him, surprised. He

nods. “I know Rachel is a

bit…overbearing and…

oblivious to certain things, but

when we heard her take

of what happened between

you two, Hiram and I

understood.”

I’m uncomfortable. Not

because I’m offended or

anything, but because I

want to hug this man and cry

and laugh and fall apart.

Instead I just wait for him

to continue.

“Blaine, we saw the bruises,” he

says. I suddenly want

to vomit. The sad part is, I don’t

know which time he’s talking

about. The bruises on my

face the day I came out

to my dad? The bruises on

my arms from Karofsky

and his henchmen? “If

you don’t feel safe—you

know you can always come

here, right?”

I did. I do.

“Yes sir,” I mumble, unable

to meet his eyes. He looks

at me, though—it feels like he’s

staring into my

soul. “Blaine, are you

okay?”

And I know what he

means—

And I know what I

 _should_ say—

And I know that I’m

lying—

“I’m fine, Mr.Berry, I promise.”

I’ve broken promises before.


	50. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kurt smiles, and that makes me smile."

**DINNER**

Kurt and I sit

next to one another, and

Rachel sits in front of us,

the Berry Men on either side

of the table. Kurt’s hand

is resting on his thigh

under the table. I’m

tempted to take it.

So I do.

He looks over at me,

a mischievous glint

in his eye, but I just

shrug and continue eating my

pasta. “Blaine sounded amazing

just then, didn’t he?” He says

suddenly, and I could strangle

him.

“He should join the Glee

Club,” Rachel says, not

looking up from her

food.

I honestly don’t know

what the hell Glee Club is—

it sounds like more locker

tosses and slushy facials.

“I’ll think about it,” I

mumble. Kurt smiles, and

that makes me smile.

He squeezes my hand

under the table.

I squeeze back.


	51. The Walk Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I realize I don’t want him to leave—I don’t want to walk home alone."

**THE WALK HOME**

It’s cold, the beginning of

November. Kurt and I walk

so close to one another

that we’re almost touching

shoulders. He’s holding my

hand, though. Every once

in a while he looks over

at me and smiles, and I

can’t help but smile back.

“Rachel told me you

could sing,” he says. “But

she didn’t say you could sing

like that.” He pulls me closer

to him, our shoulders touch

now and it makes my

skin tingle, even though we’re

both bundled up. “You have

an incredible voice,” he says.

I think back on that

time we were in Algebra Three and

he sang a little bit of ‘Blackbird.’ He

sounded amazing, a melodic,

sweet and raw sound, like singing

is all he ever does and what

he’s devoted his life to.

“You do too,” I say. It’s quiet for a

moment or two. The streetlight

flickers, casting a purplish

hue to the street. When I breathe,

it makes that little fog cloud. It’s

almost like breathing out

purple air.

We're almost to Kurt’s house

now. I can see it, just down the

road. I realize I don’t want

him to leave—I don’t want to

walk home alone.

I don’t voice my objections, but

he can somehow sense

my discomfort. I try

to smile reassuringly, though

it probably looks

awkward and

weird.

We stop in front of his house, the

porch light illuminating our

faces. “Do you want to meet

my dad?”

His dad.

Is he anything like

mine?

Before I can respond, Kurt

kisses me. I gasp in

surprise, and he uses

it to his advantage, slipping

his tongue into my mouth. I give in

and place my hands

at his waist, kissing him

back eagerly, as if my life

depends on it.

He breaks the kiss after

a little while, but he’s

red in the face and his lips

are slightly swollen and I’m sure

I don’t look much better. “Do

you want to meet my dad?” He asks

again, and I nod before I realize

what he even said.

Kurt unlocks his door, and

basically drags me inside of

his house.

“Hey, buddy, I made you some

hot chocolate—who’s this?”


	52. Burt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He doesn’t even know me. It’s not taunting, the way my father did it. It’s kind."

**BURT**

He doesn’t really look

like Kurt. Not really. But

you can tell Kurt’s his son in

the smallest ways.

The slight sparkle in their

eyes. A hint of playfulness,

mischief, sass.

The way they

stand. Not the stance, no—Kurt

has an elegance that his dad

hasn’t quite mastered, but it’s a certain

confidence about it. They’re both

comfortable in their skin.

Their stubbornness. Both of them

are headstrong and fight

back—neither of them

will take anyone’s

shit.

And—

And acceptance.

They’re both so accepting, Burt

looked at me and smiled—he

smiled at his son and he

waggled his eyebrows and Kurt

blushed.

“You two were on

the porch for a long time,

Champ,” he says. Heat rushes to

my face. “What’s your name,

son?”

Son.

He doesn’t even know me. It’s

not taunting, the way my

father did it. It’s kind.

“My name’s Blaine,” I say. He

nods. “It’s nice to meet

you, Mr.Hummel.”

“Call me Burt. You want some

hot chocolate?”


	53. I'm Excited, But It's Sad That I'm Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He hasn’t hit me in seventy five days..."

**I’M EXCITED, BUT IT’S SAD THAT I’M EXCITED**

My father and I

are three quarters of the

way done with ‘my’ car.

It’s not an unpleasant

experience, actually. Kind

of mind numbing in a way.

Barry asks about Kurt

every once in a while, and

I always tell him that it

was a one time thing.

I barley want to be around

the guys at this garage. I doubt

Kurt wants to either.

Every day its the same

thing. Kurt and I walk

home, holding hands. We let

go when we see my father. He

takes me to the garage. We

come home.

But he’s nicer. He hasn’t hit me

in seventy five days. He hasn’t

called me names. He calls me

son every so often and looks

me in my eyes.

It makes me excited.

I hate myself for it.

I shouldn’t be excited that

he’s being a dad.

But I am.

And I’ll take what I can get.


	54. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I see the fun that they have—the unity—they’re a family."

**FAMILY**

I watch the people

who are in the Glee club.

A few cheerleaders—

The quarterback—

Some other football players—

A kid in a wheelchair—

A girl who left her fashion sense in 2007—

A heavier girl with an attitude—

Rachel—

and

Kurt—

They are _constantly_ harassed.

Slushy’s.

Lockers.

Names.

But even still, I poke my

head into the

classroom, and I see

the fun that they have—

the unity—

they’re a family.

I’ve been alone at

this school for so long.

Tried my best to be invisible—

didn’t want people to see me.

My best friends are

book characters and singers.

I feel like I deserve a family

that would support me.

I feel like I deserve a family

that would love me.

I feel like I deserve a family

that does their fucking _job_.

I feel like I deserve a family

that wouldn’t call me horrible names.

I feel like I deserve a family

that works.

I felt all of these things when

I auditioned and sang my

heart out.

I felt like I belonged with them

when they all clapped and cheered.

When Rachel and Kurt wrapped their

arms around my neck.

When the quarterback clapped me

on the back and smiled.

When the head cheerleader looked

over at me and said “Welcome tot the Glee Club.”

A new family.

I kind of like it.


	55. The Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I wish I could stop time to make this moment last forever."

**THE BASEMENT**

Kurt and I don’t walk

to my house because my dad

had a meeting—so he isn’t expecting

me. Instead we just walk

around aimlessly, before

he suggests we go to his

house and study Algebra Three.

We get there, and Burt’s not

there and we’re the only ones

in the entire house. Kurt takes

me to his room, we sit

down on the floor and we

pull out our Algebra Three

work. It’s not much, honestly—

the teacher doesn’t

really care.

We start off actually focused on the

work, but in about twenty minutes

his lips are on mine and we’re making out

on the floor of his bedroom. This kiss

isn’t like the other kisses we’ve had—

we were in public or had a time limit—

this kiss is hungry and eager and hard and

my entire body is on fire.

I’m halfway on top of him, and

his hands are sitting on my

hips and he’s making these little

noises that are driving me insane and—

“Are we dating?”

The question pops up out of

nowhere, but his eyes are urgent as if

the entire world depends on

my answer.

It takes me a second or two to

think it over. We’ve never been on

an actual date. But we kiss and

hold hands and we’re doing

 _this_ right now.

“Yeah,” I say. He beams, and I can’t help

but smile, too. “Yeah, we are.”

“Boyfriend,” he says. “Boyyyyfrieeend.”

“Shut up,” I say with a laugh, and then

I kiss him again and I’m completely

on top of him and straddling him and

it’s hot and I wish I could

stop time to make

this moment last forever.

We kiss until I can’t really

feel my lips anymore, and

I’m sure he can’t either, and

I’ve memorized what he

tastes like and—

“Door. _Open_.”

I have never jumped

out of my skin so violently

before in my entire life.

Burt Hummel stands in

the doorway, an amused

expression on his

face.

While I’m mortified,

I can’t help but appreciate

Burt Hummel’s calmness,

the difference between

him and my father. 

The world needs more Burt Hummels.


	56. Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A regular male companion with whom one has a romantic or sexual relationship."

**BOYFRIEND**

boyfriend | ˈboiˌfrend |

noun

**1** _a regular male companion with whom one has a romantic or sexual relationship._

Someone to kiss.

Someone to hold hands with.

Someone to hold.

Someone who gets me.

Someone who wants me.

Someone who understands me.

Someone to think about.

Someone who I think about when I wake up in the morning.

Someone who I write pages upon pages of poems about.

Someone who texts me into the wee hours of the morning.

Someone who walks me home.

Kurt.


	57. him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i’m on fire—"

**him.**

i think about him

when i get home

i think about his

hands on my waist

i think about his

lips on mine

i think about the

way he sounded

i think about

him.

and i want

him.

and i—

i’m on fire—

fire in my belly—

fire between my legs—

he’s set me on fire and

he’s not even here—

him.

and a hand

is there

and is moving

and the fire

is burning

and i’m feeding into

it it’s going

to consume

me and a certain twist of

the wrist will get me there and—

_oh god—_


	58. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would die before I told him."

**BLUSH**

I don’t know how

I’m supposed to look

Kurt in the face after

last night.

He looks at me funny

when I blush the

second he looks at me

and it’s mortifying.

I refuse to even look

at him. He keeps

looking at me, though. It’s

torture.

“What is your deal?” He

says finally and I refuse

to tell him. I would die

before I told him.

“Okay, fine,” he says. “Don’t

tell me.” _Don’t worry,_

 _I won’t_. But I sneak a

glance at him.

It’s like this

for the rest of

class and honestly

I don’t mind.


	59. Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just look at him as he pulls out pair after pair of colored pants. Every single bright button down, every single cardigan and blazer. My shoes, decorative socks. Belts."

**CLOTHES**

No one’s at my

house, so I invite Kurt

over.

I didn’t really want to, but

he kept asking and

kept asking, so finally

I gave in and let him

come over.

When he enters my room he

immediately sets his eyes

on my closet and drawers,

pulling all of them open, and

inspecting.

“Blaine,” his voice is serious

and grave. I look at him.

“Blaine Anderson, you own

 _color_.” I nod. I do own color.

“Why don’t you wear it?” His voice

has raised ten octaves. I didn’t

think that was humanly

possible. I just look at him

as he pulls out pair after

pair of colored pants. Every

single bright button down, every

single cardigan and blazer. My shoes,

decorative socks. Belts.

Somewhere, in the middle of

all this chaos, he finds my

box of bowties.

I have one in _every_ color. Every

pattern. Texture. Type. Style.

His eyes turn into plates. “Blaine, why

don’t you wear any of this?”

I have an answer.

I’m not sure I want to share it.


	60. The Real Answer

**THE REAL ANSWER**

Because the last time I wore

something like that, my father

called me a fairy and hit me in

the face.

Because the last time I wore

something like that, I cried for

hours and hours and hours until

my throat was raw.

Because the last time I wore

something like that, it

hurt more than anything

you could imagine.


	61. What I Say

**WHAT I SAY**

“I don’t know.”


	62. Bad Moods, Conversation, Kissing, and Amy Winehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I turn and look at him. 'Amy Winehousewas one of the greatest voices of our time,' I say."

**BAD MOODS, CONVERSATION, KISSING, AND AMY WINEHOUSE**

For some reason, there’s

a dark cloud hanging

over my head. Kurt

notices, and somehow puts

everything back where

he found it in a timely

fashion.

Except for the bowties.

He keeps them in his

lap, pulling out every

single one and examining

them.

“These are amazing—are these

Amy Winehouse lyrics?”

He’s holding up a black

bowtie with blood red words

scrawled all over it. I made that

one myself.

I nod.

“You made this, didn’t you?”

I nod again.

He sighs and puts the bowtie

down. “Your entire demeanor has

changed. What’s going on

in that head of yours?”

I don’t say anything. He sighs

again and sits next to me on

my bed. He grabs my hand.

I turn and look at him. “Amy Winehouse

was one of the greatest

voices of our time,” I say.

He smiles. “I wouldn’t

have guessed you were a

fan.”

“There’s a lot of things

you don’t know about me,” I say.

“Tell me.”

“My favorite food is a cronut.

My favorite move is The Breakfast Club.

My favorite color is red.”

He smiles.

“My favorite food is ice cream.

My favorite movie is Moulin Rouge.

My favorite color is also red.”

“My mom is a nurse.

My older brother is in Hollywood.

My dad is a lawyer.”

“My mom passed away when I was young.

I don’t have any siblings.

My dad owns a tire shop.”

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time

ago.”

I squeeze his hand. He smiles

this sad smile.

“Amy said that love is a losing game,”

I say.

“Do you believe that?”

“I used to.”

And then he kisses me. It’s long

and sweet. I smile into it.

I could do this forever.

He pulls away too soon. I lean

in for more, but he’s adamant.

“Wear some color tomorrow, and

we’ll see.”

I groan.

“You don’t play fair.”

He laughs at that. “You look like

you’re going to a funeral every

day. I’m tired of looking

at it.”

“Amy Winehouse said that

love is blind.”

“Hush.”


	63. Grandma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She was always in my corner—when I came out, especially."

**GRANDMA**

My father’s mother, she—

She’s amazing.

She loves me, despite my

father. She loves me

no matter what and I love

her for it.

She was always in my

corner—when I came out,

especially.

“He doesn’t understand,” she’d

say. “He’s just jealous of how

happy you are.”

She’d take me on weekends

sometimes, and she’d

feed me until I couldn’t eat

anything else.

She always tells me what

I needed to hear—

I love her more than I

love myself.

And she’s sick—


	64. Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know why I called you I just wanted to hear your voice.”

**CALL**

I don’t know why—but

when my mom told me, I just

needed to hear his

voice.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi.”

_“What’s wrong? Why do you sound like you’re crying?”_

“My grandma—she has breast cancer.”

“ _Oh, Blaine, I’m so sorry.”_

“I don’t know why I called you I just wanted to hear your voice.”

_“I understand.”_

“…”

“ _That’s—that’s what happened to my mom.”_

“Really?”

_“Yeah—it was really bad. By the time we found out, it had already spread. She was gone within a year.”_

“Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

_“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. It was a long time ago.”_

“Can you tell me about her?”

_“She was the strongest person I’ve ever met. Even when her hair was falling out, she found a way to smile, to show up to my school functions—she did until her last few weeks. By then she couldn’t get out of bed. But she’d call me into her room and I’d lay next to her and she’d sing to me.”_

“What did she sing?”

_“Oh, she sang everything under the sun. If she could think of the song, she’d sing it. But my favorite thing to hear her sing was To Know Him Is To Love Him. She told me she was singing about me and my dad.”_

“I know that song… _To know know know him…his to love love love him…”_

_“Just so see that smile, makes my life worth while….”_

_“To know know know him…is to love love love him, and I do, I do, I do…_ that’s a really nice song, Kurt.”

_“Yeah. It was the last thing she ever sang to me.”_

“I’m really sorry about your mom, Kurt.”

“ _No need for that, Blaine. I told you already.”_

_“_ Sorry.”

“ _My dad’s calling me, I have to go.”_

“Okay. Thank you for talking to me, it honestly made me feel better.”

“ _You’re welcome, Blaine. Don’t forget to wear color tomorrow.”_

“Hmph.”

_“See you later, Blaine.”_

“Bye, Kurt.”

**_Call ended._ **


	65. A Small Skirmish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And she’s hurt—I can tell by the way she stiffens and the sharp intake of breath..."

**A SMALL SKIRMISH**

I put my phone down—I stopped

crying a few minutes ago, but I

wipe my face anyway, trying

to regain some composure.

“Who was that?”

I almost jump out of my skin.

My mother is standing in my

doorway. She’s looking at me

with a curious expression on her

face.

“J-just a friend,” I manage.

She looks at me, an eyebrow arched. “If

you say so,” she says. “I haven’t heard you

sing in a really long time.”

I shrug. “Haven’t wanted to.”

She comes and sits next

to me. “Blaine, your grandmother is

going to be okay.”

“No she’s not, and you know

it.” My voice breaks. I

hate myself for it. I don’t

want her to see me cry.

“Blaine—”

“Mom, you have never

done a good job at protecting

me and making me feel better when

it actually mattered. Don’t try

to do it now, because we both know

it’s bullshit.”

The words fall out

before I can

stop them,

and I feel bad

but it’s the truth.

I’ve broken a rule of adaptation—

_You want to argue,_

_something deep down_

_is telling you to argue,_

_to let all your anger_

_just fall out._

_To say something you’ll_

_never be able to take back._

And she’s hurt—I can tell

by the way she stiffens and

the sharp intake of breath, but

I don’t look at her

and I don’t apologize.

_Breathe. Fucking breathe._

She doesn’t say anything

else. She just gets up and

leaves.


	66. The Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And Rachel hugs me and kisses me on my cheek, the way she used to..."

**THE GOOD**

A black shirt…he’s not going to

win entirely, okay—

A bright red pair of pants; I used

to love these so much—

A black, red, and white bowtie, one of

the first ones that Rachel ever gave me—

Black shoes to tie it all together—

It’s not colorful, not

really. But it’s a start—

The pants are kind of tight, I’ve

grown a little over the past

few years, but honestly my ass

looks _amazing_ —

I look at myself in the

mirror, and see myself

two years ago, in my

freshman year, Before—

And I leave my bedroom, head

high—

My mother’s eyes pop out of

her head, but she doesn’t say

anything, not after last night—

My father looks at me once and

then averts his eyes, sighing

deep in his throat—

“Good morning,” I say quietly, grabbing

an apple off of the counter. I take a bite—

Neither of them say anything—

So I grab my coat and walk out the door

with slightly deflated spirits—

But Kurt and Rachel are waiting for me

in the library, and we’re the only ones

there—

And they’re smiling—

And Rachel hugs me and

kisses me onmy cheek, the way

she used to—

And Kurt takes advantage of

the fact that we’re alone and kisses

me on the cheek, too—

So I smile, despite my parents—


	67. The Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kurt begins screaming at the top of his lungs..."

**THE BAD**

I smile—

And we leave the library—

We walk down the hallway, the

three of us. Fellow Glee Clubbers

greet us—

And then we walk past the football

players…Karofsky is there—

He’s looking at me—

I’m not blending in—

I’m not invisible—

There’s a look in his eyes that I

can’t place—

I am _not_ following my own

rules—

He eyes me over, it’s almost

flirtatious, but I have to know

better than that—

I want to disappear inside myself—

He’s close to me—

Close to us—

He pushes Rachel away, she

squeaks—

Rachel…

He shoves me into the lockers,

my back screams in agony—

Kurt—

Kurt begins screaming at the top of

his lungs—

Karofsky shoves Kurt into the

lockers—

But he doesn’t stop there—

Kurt falls to the ground—

He pulls him up—

Shoves him again—

Kurt—

Kurt—

_Breathe. Fucking Breathe—_

I can’t—


	68. The Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Karofsky is on the ground..."

**THE UGLY**

I scream—

And I punch him in the face—

He shoves me into the

lockers again—

Fist raised—

But I’m faster—

And I punch him in the

face again—

He howls—

There’s a crowd now—

This is not being invisible—

But Kurt—

But Rachel—

I’m screaming bloody murder—

My fist doesn’t stop moving—

Karofsky is on the ground—

When did he get there—

I don’t remember him falling—

Stop punching him—

He’s made my life a living hell

for two years—

A hand catches my fist—

It’s strong, stronger than I

would have expected—

Kurt’s grabbing me—

Pulling me back—

Karofsky’s on the ground—

I think his nose is broken—

Oh God—

He’s bleeding—

I did that—

I—

Kurt pulls me into a hug—

“It’s okay,” he says—

It’s not—

But I like the lie, so I let him tell it—

Someone helps Karofsky off the

ground—

Where the fuck are the teachers—

The crowd disperses—

And it’s just me—

And Kurt—

And Rachel—

So we go to the choir room—

I sit down—

I breathe—

Kurt looks at me—

“Thank you,” he says—

I close my eyes—

“Though he be but little, he be

fierce,” he murmurs—

I choke out a laugh—

“Damn straight.”


	69. Boxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’d do it for hours, just hitting the bag over and over again."

**BOXING**

I’m not a violent person.

My brother knew this, and

he respected it. But one day

I came home with a black eye when

I was twelve. (He was eighteen at the time.)

He stopped dead in his tracks

when he saw it. I tried to hide

behind my hands, because I

was ashamed and embarrassed.

But he moved my hands and took

my face in both of his own. He looked

at my bruise for a long time, an

unreadable expression on my face.

“You get into a fight, Squirt?” I shook

my head. It hadn’t been a fight—more

of a beating. He sighed, deep

in his throat. I frowned.

He moved his hands from his face and

grabbed my arm and pulled me to

his car. I sat down in the passenger

seat, looked at my hands.

We rode in silence, if you didn’t

count Freddie Mercury’s voice pouring

through the car’s speaker. I lost

myself in it, in the brilliance of it.

We eventually pulled up at a gym and

got out. He took me inside and told me

to change into my gym clothes that I

had in my backpack.

Queen was still playing off my brother’s

phone, which he’d connected to a

speaker. “Come on, Squirt,” he called

out, and I made my way to where he was.

He was standing in front of a punching bag,

holding a pair of boxing gloves. He nodded towards

the hand wraps for me to put on. I wrapped

them around my fist and wrist tentatively.

After I’ve put on the gloves, Cooper

pointed at the punching bag. “Hit it,” he

said. I do. It’s weak. The bag hardly

moved. Cooper sighed deep in his throat again.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. He put a hand on

my shoulder. “It’s alright, squirt.” He changed

my stance and adjusted the way I was holding my

fist. “Hit it again,” he said. I do. It’s better.

We did this over and over again, the entire time

Queen was blasting out of the speakers, Cooper

humming along to every song. I lost myself

in it and the boxing and soon I was completely spaced out.

When we got back into the car, Cooper looked

over at me. “Blaine,” he said. Not ‘Squirt.’ He was

serious. “Blaine, don’t let anyone push you around. There’s

always a fight—do you understand?

There’s _always_ a fight, Blaine. Someone

lays their hand on you, you punch them in the

fucking face—no one pushes the Andersons around,

isn’t that what Dad’s always telling you?”

I nodded. “Now, what’d I say do if someone

hits you?” Cooper asked. I looked at him. “Come on,

say it.” I sighed, a heavy puff of air that

left my mouth. Cooper was still waiting.

“Punch them in the fucking face,” I said

quietly. Cooper rolled his eyes. “I can’t hear

you,” he said. I groaned out loud. He laughed.

“Punch them in the fucking face!”

I think back on that day often, usually

when I’m being shoved into lockers, or

worse. I think back on that moment, and I

would go to that gym, and I’d just box.

I’d do it for hours, just hitting the bag

over and over again. I never hit anyone, just

took out my frustration on the bag. I was failing

Cooper. I knew it, and it made me even more upset.

He’d be proud of me, I know he would.

And the way Kurt keeps looking at me—

I can’t describe it. But he’s smiling.

I feel like a million bucks.


	70. Brace for Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He doesn’t let it go for a long time. I fight back tears."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next few chapters are going to be very very very heavy
> 
> warnings will be applied

**BRACE FOR IMPACT**

Kurt walks me home, as always, but

he doesn’t hold my hand. They’re bruised and

it would hurt. Instead he just walks close

to me, stealing kisses every so often, until

we see my father. He’s standing

at the edge of the driveway today.

I say goodbye to Kurt, and he leaves. I

make it to the driveway, trying to hide

my hands—it’s useless. My father practically

snatches them away from me. “What happened?”

“I had to defend myself,” I say. He nods. He looks

at me. “You’re dressed differently,” he says. “Like

you used to.”

I nod.

He doesn’t say anything else for a long minute, and

neither do I. Suddenly his demeanor changes. “You

look like a faggot.”

I wince as if he’d slapped me. “What?”

“You look like a faggot,” he says again, looking me

dead in my eyes. I take a deep breath. I turn to

go in the house.

He grabs my shoulder.

I swallow thickly.

He doesn’t let it go for a long

time. I fight back tears.

I thought this was over. I thought

that we were back, the way we used

to be. Before life got in the way.

_Dumbass_.

I know what’s going to happen.

I brace myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw my tumblr is 20xbetterthanu, and I do take requests for Klaine fics! just pop it into my ask box and I'll do my best to write it!


	71. The First Time He Ever Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just kind of gasped and looked around to see where it had come from."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//  
> -slurs  
> -vivid child abuse

**THE FIRST TIME HE EVER HURT ME**

I was fourteen years old.

It was the

day I came out.

“Mom, Dad,

I’m gay,” I said.

My mother

didn’t say anything,

her eyes just kind

of glossed over. I

kept looking at her,

waiting for her to say

something.

She never

did.

I was

about to

open my mouth

to speak

again, but

I didn’t have time to.

There was

a blow to

my face.

It made me

blink several times

in surprise, I

didn’t cry

or scream

or even whimper.

I just

kind of gasped

and

looked around to see

where it had

come from.

My father

was looking

at me, a

glint in his

eyes that

I’d never seen before.

He hit me

again,

this time

I do scream,

he’d slapped

me in the face

again,

harder

this time,

splitting my lip.

Then he was

on top of me

hands around

my throat

squeezing

squeezing

squeezing

can’t breathe

can’t see

tighter

tighter

_help_

he lets go

i lay still

still

can’t

breathe

he hits me again

and again

and again

can’t breathe

don’t want

to

breathe

_help me_

she’s sitting there

not saying a

word

not

looking

if she’s not

going to

help me

she should at

least _watch_

i want this moment

etched into her mind

for ever

the way

i feel like

these bruises

will be burned

into my skin

for ever

“No son of mine

is a faggot—

No son of mine

is a freak—

No son of mine

is a fucking pansy who

wants someone

to fuck him in the ass.”

And the funny thing

is—my feelings

had _nothing_ to do

with sex—

“Why would you

choose this for yourself—

Why are you

deciding that this is the way you want to live—

Why do you

want this for yourself—”

I did not

choose

I did not

decide

I did not

want

And then he’s

gone

and I’m still

there

I’m still

_here_

exactly where I

started

because he’s hit me

again

and

again

and

again

and

again

And

I

don’t

want

to

do

this

any

more


	72. tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i should go to sleep..."

**tired**

i am so

tired

exhausted

weary

worn out

fatigued

tired

_in need of sleep or rest; weary_

tired

i should

go to

sleep

take a nap

doze off

get some shut eye

sleep

for ever

maybe?

but it’s

impossible

to sleep

when the monster

is not only

under your bed

but in the other

room


	73. Grandma's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i start walking..."

**GRANDMA’S HOUSE**

is way across town—

too far to walk—

to far to run—

it’s so close

yet so far away—

even still

i grab a bag

shove some clothes

in it

laptop—

a pair of shoes

grab my backpack for school

and slip out

of my window—

i start walking

and I keep walking until its

dark

until the moon

is directly above me

until it’s behind me

and the sun is

about to greet me

and i’m freezing

cold because it’s november and this

is ohio and the ground is

covered in frost and i cannot

feel my toes

but there it is

her house

right fucking there

and it’s six am

but she’s awake, i can

hear the TV playing the

six am news

i knock on the

door and she opens it, confused

and then she sees me

and she grabs me

by both shoulders

and pulls me inside

and

i forget that she’s sick

i forget about my father

i forget about the bruises

i forget about karofksy

i forget about being numb

i forget about music

i forget about cooper

i forget about my mother

i forget about kurt

and i just

cry into her shoulder

because i’m

safe

at

grandma’s house


	74. She Tells Me

**SHE TELLS ME**

everything’s going to be okay

that she’s got me

that i don’t deserve this

that she’s sorry

that she loves me

that she loves me

that she loves me


	75. What to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...he doesn’t say anything."

**WHAT TO SAY**

I go to school the next day—she drives me, even

though she’s sick and I told her she

didn’t have to. She wouldn’t take

no for an answer.

Kurt and Rachel are waiting for me, wondering

where I’ve been, why I haven’t

answered any texts, why I look

like this.

And I look at him, and I look at her, and

I don’t know exactly what to say—

That I thought everything was okay?

That I thought me and my Dad were alright?

That I was stupid?

That I should have never let my guard down?

That all I could do was crawl to my sick grandmother?

That I am a fucking idiot?

I don’t know which one to say, all of

them are

true.

And I just feel heavy, like I’m

drowning. So I don’t say anything at

all. And I find it hard to accept Rachel’s

affection, but I don’t pull away.

And Kurt—

He looks at me for a very long time.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe it’s because of Rachel standing there.

Maybe it’s because everyone is around us.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know what’s going on.

And there’s an evil voice in my head, burning

me up inside, and I know it’s wrong, but it

screams at me.

Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t care.


	76. The Voice In My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...sometimes I believe it."

**THE VOICE IN MY HEAD**

Is a complete and total bitch.

It tells me that Kurt doesn’t

really like me.

It tells me that Rachel thinks

I’m a charity case.

It tells me that my father doesn’t

love me at all.

It tells me that I am

not good enough.

It tells me that I don’t

have a chance at making it in this world.

And sometimes

I believe it.

And sometimes

I don’t.

And this time—

I don’t

I don’t

I don’t

I don’t

I don’t know.


	77. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’ve already broken so many rules."

**DOUBT**

He starts in the direction of

my house, and I stop dead in

my tracks.

“Blaine?”

I shake my head.

“Blaine, what’s wrong?”

Commandment Number Four:

_Don’t ask for help. You’ll figure it out on your own._

I shake my head again.

“Blaine,” he says again. He reaches for

me.

I’ve already broken so many rules.

I spoke, when I wasn’t spoken to—

I didn’t blend in—

I joined a club—

I stood up for myself—

I wasn’t numb—

And it ruined everything.

And Kurt, perfect life, accepting

father, happy, beautiful, amazing,

privileged, unknowing

Kurt

is the reason behind all of it.

And I asked myself a while

ago if the heartache was worth it.

And at the time, I said yes.

But was it?


	78. Word Vomit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...you have never had to deal with the amount of pain that I’m in..."

**WORD VOMIT**

You don’t understand

me and you don’t understand

my life you came here and you changed

everything and ruined

everything and now he

hates me again because I listened

to you if you really

cared about me you’d

understand that I can’t do

all of this _this_ dressing

this way going to Glee Club

walking home with you kissing

you, holding your hand trusting

you I should have never asked

you to go to the Lima Bean that day I wish

I’d never even see you and I

know that it’s not fair to you because

you didn’t know what you were getting into

but I am so fucked up and

you just came and stirred all of

it up and now it’s spilling over

and I’m a fucking mess and I hate

you I hate you I hate you I hate you

because I love you and I hate you

for making me feel this way because

now I can never go back to the

way I was before and you don’t

even _know_ me and you have _never_

felt how I’m feeling right now like

I can’t breathe and that something

is constantly breaking me into

a million little pieces at every

second every day you have _never_

had to deal with the amount of

pain that I’m in no one has ever broken

you down time after time not only

emotionally but physically and made you

want to die just die and fade away

and make it stop and that’s not your

fault but stop pushing me to

do things that you _know_ are going

to fuck me up in the head because he

almost loved me again and then I ruined

it and I did it for you because I love you

and I want to make you happy

but I can’t do it all and I just feel like

I’m collapsing and—


	79. Four Words, First

**FOUR WORDS, FIRST**

“I love you, too.”


	80. Then Anger and Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...they were either going to kill me, or I was going to kill myself.

**THEN ANGER AND TRUTH**

“You have _no_ clue

who I am and what I’ve

been through and you have

 _no_ clue how I’ve felt.

My dad moved us here

because he was afraid,

Blaine Anderson. He was

afraid I was going to die.

I was beaten, every single

day. Worse than the shit

I put up with here, so

much worse.

They’d beat me until I

was a bleeding mess on

the floor. I had to go

to the hospital seven times.

And my dad, he knew, they

were either going to kill

me, or I was going to kill

myself. I tried, more than once.

I can show you, if you’d like. What

they did to me, what I did to myself. I

have proof, if you need it

because apparently you don’t trust me.

I know what it feels like

to be drowning. To be broken

into a million pieces. I

know what you’re going through.

And you can’t expect me to

just _know_ what’s going

on with you. You

don’t tell anyone _shit_.

You just walk around with

all this stuff on your mind

and in these dark moods and

no one knows why.

It’s not fair to me and Rachel

and it’s not fair to you

because you need help, Blaine. We

both love you so much.

You aren’t the only one

who’s suffering, and it’s not

fair of you to treat us like

this when all we want to do is help you.

If you’d just let down your walls

and let someone in, let someone

help you. Stop building

all this up. You’re going to explode.

Just let me in, please. Blaine?

Let me in. Let me help you.

I want to help you.

I love you.

I love you, Blaine. Do you hear

me? I love you. Accept it. Let

me in. Let go. Let go. Let go.

I love you. Accept it.”


	81. Held

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...he’s shaking violently..."

**HELD**

Arms around my torso,

strong and sure and there,

head on my shoulder,

just breathing.

Shaking,

he’s shaking violently,

so am I,

neither of us mind.

I’m crying,

I think he is too,

I’m in so much pain,

he is too.

When someone holds you,

for thirty minutes,

just holds you,

they love you.

When there’s no kissing,

no talking,

nothing but his arms around me,

nothing but my arms around him.


	82. Rough Draft Again #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...the humiliation..."

**Blaine Anderson**

**November 29th**

**Assignment Question: Who is someone you wish you could have saved?**

**Rough Draft #1**

I would have saved

myself

from the heartache

the pain

the humiliation

just avoided it entirely

and get the fuck out of here


	83. Rough Draft Again #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...the cancer that’s gnawing at her..."

**Blaine Anderson**

**November 29th**

**Assignment Question: Who is someone you wish you could have saved?**

**Rough Draft #2**

I would save

Grandma

from the cancer

that’s gnawing at

her, eating her

away and taking her

from me, slowly—

tortuously.


	84. Rough Draft Again #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I’d save her from my father..."

**Blaine Anderson**

**November 29th**

**Assignment Question: Who is someone you wish you could have saved?**

**Rough Draft #3**

My mom

I’d save her from my

father

because sometimes,

he hits her, too

sometimes, he calls

her names, too

sometimes, I think

she wants to die, too


	85. Rough Draft Again #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because he is perfect—"

**Blaine Anderson**

**November 29th**

**Assignment Question: Who is someone you wish you could have saved?**

**Rough Draft #3**

I would save

him.

Because he is perfect—

in every way—

and I would

give everything

I’ve got

just to see

him smile.


	86. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I trust them more than I trust my mouth to speak—"

**WORDS**

I have always had power

over words—

they come to me easily

instantly—

sometimes they’re the

only thing I have

that I feel like

I can control—

I trust them

more than I trust my

mouth to speak—

I’d rather write it

down on a sheet of

paper and let it

all out that way—

my tongue could never

express what my hands

manage to express—

I have always had power

over words—

I have a word for everything—

Everyone—

But there are no

words

that are

worthy

enough

to describe

him.


	87. Assignment #2-What I Turn In

**Blaine Anderson**

**November 30th**

**Assignment Question: Who is someone you wish you could have saved?**

**What I turn in:**

Who’s worth saving?

Who deserves a second chance?

If they went, then they went, and they’re gone.

Who gets a second chance?

No one.


	88. A Month Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "the car is there—finished—"

**A MONTH LATER**

not speaking

not seeing

not communicating

with anyone

but Grandma

and

him.

And I look out

into the driveway

and the

car

is there—finished—

and I smile.


	89. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "he must think i’m going to fall for it again."

**FOOL**

he must think i’m a

fool.

he must think i’m

stupid.

he must think i’m

going to fall for it

again.

no.

I get in.

I drive home.

I put it in park.

I get out.

He’s standing in the yard.

I smile at him.

Who’s the fool now?


	90. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you. But I fucking hate you."

**GLASS**

I smile. I smile real big.

And I bash the fucking

windows out with

my bare hands.

He’s still standing there, eyes

wide, mouth open, frozen.

I beat the car, the way he beat

me.

I scream slurs at it.

Faggot. Fairy. Butt Boy.

Every name he’s ever

called me.

“I thought you’d

changed.

I thought we were

okay.

I thought you still loved

me.

I thought you finally accepted

me.

I don’t care anymore,

_DAD._

I don’t want your

love.

I don’t want your

acceptance.

I don’t need it,

honestly.

I love you.

But I cannot keep doing

this.

I love you.

But I cannot stay

here.

I love you.

But I cannot

 _breathe_.

I love you.

But

I

fucking

hate

you.”

And then I walk away.

I hear him call my name.

It’s a rugged sound.

Almost animalistic.

That sound—

will haunt me.

But I don’t turn around.

I don’t go back.

And only then

do I realize

my hands are bleeding

from the glass.


	91. Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In this moment, I love myself."

**MOMENTS**

At his house,

he wraps my hands, he kisses

my shoulder.

I don’t cry.

My tears have run dry.

In this moment, I am

enough.

In this moment, I am

free.

In this moment, I love

him.

In this moment, I love

myself.

Lips are opened and put

together, eyes are closed and

hearts are beating as one.

In this moment, I am

loved.

In this moment, I am

accepted.

Breathing is stuttered, shirts

are shed, skin is brushing

against skin.

In this moment, I am

as I am.

In this moment, I know

who I am.

Buttons are unbuttoned, the sound

of shuffled fabric, the slight

giggle of nervousness.

In this moment, I am

wanted.

In this moment, we are

enough.

A gasp, foreign feelings, a

smile, legs intertwined, movement,

a steady rhythm.

In this moment, I am

new.

In this moment, I am

beautiful.

A touch, and the universe opens

up and shows me

what I’ve never felt.

In this moment, I am

in love.

A reassurance, a kiss.

Have you ever felt this way?

As if the universe has

opened up and shown you

all the answers? Told

you what really mattered?

Have you ever felt the touch

of a lover? Someone who

touches you so gently you

could cry?

Have you ever known this

feeling? An ache being

healed with a simple touch? A

terminal pain—healed with

a quick kiss and an ‘I love you.’

In this moment,

I have.

And as he moves above me,

just as new to this as I am,

I feel it. I know this feeling.

In this moment,

I know this feeling

all

too

well.


	92. The Truth About Kurt Hummel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'I don’t need you to be perfect,' I say"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very heavy chapter dealing with 
> 
> suicide attempts  
> sexual assault  
> self harm  
> (all expressed in memory)

**THE TRUTH ABOUT KURT HUMMEL**

After,

we lay there for a long

time, just looking at one

another. Every few minutes

he would kiss my shoulder

or my collar bone or

my lips.

I run my hand along his abdomen,

down his hip,

and I stop because he

tenses and there’s something

under my fingers I hadn’t

felt before.

“Is this…?”

He closes his eyes and

rolls over away from me,

not answering. I move

closer to him, kissing the

bare skin of his shoulder

blades.

“It’s okay,” I say. He

doesn’t move. “Kurt,

look at me, please.”

He doesn’t turn around. “I

don’t want to look at you,”

he says. “I don’t want

you to see. I don’t want you

to know that part of me. He

isn’t pretty.”

I look at him, even though

he won’t turn and look at me. He

has freckles scattered along his

back, thin lines of lean muscle

on his shoulders. “I don’t

need you to be perfect,” I say. “God

knows I’m a fucking mess, and

you still manage to love me

through it. Why can’t you let me

do the same?”

He sighs. “I was fourteen. Freshman

year.” He stops, as if he’s trying

to figure out exactly what he wants to

say. I wait, patient. “It had been a hard

month. My grades were slipping,

I was constantly being harassed

and beaten. I was covered

in bruises. One day one of them—

his name was Allan. He

told me to kill myself. So,

I thought _I’ll give him what_

 _he asked for_ , and I tried to hang

myself in my closet. My dad wasn’t home,

there was nothing there to stop me. But

the rod broke.” His voice breaks, and

he takes a shaking breath. Only then

do I realize I’m crying, too.

“Fifteen. Sophomore year. My teacher

would humiliate me in front of the

whole class because I was gay. I reported

him, but the principal didn’t do anything. It

got worse. One day he gave me detention…he

held detention. I was the only one in there. He—”

he stops, takes a ragged breath. “He

pushed me into the wall, called me names that

I won’t repeat. Put his hand

over my mouth, t-touched me. And my—

my body _responded_. I didn’t have

any control, he had me pinned to the

wall—I couldn’t even control

 _myself_. ‘ _Look how hard you_

 _are,_ ” he said. “ _You like it,_

 _don’t you?’_ He kept me there, like

that for half an hour. He was so much

bigger than me, I couldn’t move at all. When he

was done, he told me he’d kill me if

I ever told anyone. I threw up

as soon as I got outside. Went home.

My dad was there, but I just ran past

him and locked the door, and I—

well you felt what I did. I did _that_. Disgusting,

right? Pathetic.”

I bite my lip to stop the sob that

is fighting its way up my throat. “No,”

I say. “Never.”

“After that, my Dad moved us here. And

then I met you.” He finally turns

around and faces me. Kisses me gently.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you.”


	93. God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...it’s Christmas..."

**GOD**

I believe in God.

Not some big guy with a

beard who sits in the clouds surrounded

by unicorns and mansions—no.

I believe that there’s something

that pulls certain people together,

something that saves and soothes.

Something that loves unconditionally,

that understands you completely.

My Grandma believes in God. As in,

goes to church every Sunday, rides with

a bible in her car, wears a cross around

her neck.

My Grandma believes in God. And it’s

Christmas, so I sit at the kitchen table with

her and bow my head and I pray with her,

thanking God for today and yesterday, for tomorrow

and all the days to come. For the things

that we don’t understand, and the things

that we do. For the good and the bad, and

the ugly. For this day.

She continues praying about things I

don’t entirely understand, so I start

praying on my own, silently. For Kurt, for

Rachel. For Myself. For Grandma.

This is most likely the last Christmas

I’ll get with her.

She takes my hand. I look at her.

“I know you tuned me out a long

time ago,” she says. “But will

you do something for me? For Christmas?”

I nod. “Anything.”

“Forgive your father. And pray for him.

Let go, before you don’t have the chance to.”


	94. Another Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “MERRY CHRISTMAS.”

**ANOTHER PHONE CALL**

_“Hello?”_

“MERRY CHRISTMAS.”

“ _Merry Christmas!”_

“MERRY CHRISTMAS.”

“ _Merry Christmas?”_

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!”

“ _Merry Christmas, Blaine.”_

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!”

“ _Blaine.”_

“Yes?”

“ _Stop.”_

“Okay.”

_“What are you doing?”_

“Watching _Dirty Dancing_.”

“ _Ooh Swayze.”_

“Indeed.”

_“Well, as much as I love his hair and hips in that movie, I need you to come over to my house, ASAP.”_

“Why?”

“ _It’s a surprise.”_

“Does it involve sex?”

_“Blaine!”_

“No?”

“ _Just come over.”_

“Okay. Okay.”

“ _Thirty minutes.”_

_“_ Okay.”

**_Call Ended._ **


	95. Gift Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Courage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shitty, I know. But it's October--and I'm not in a christmasy mood. I tried.

**GIFT EXCHANGE**

A gift—two of them, actually.

One from Kurt, one from Rachel.

She gives me a bowtie.

It’s yellow, with black smiley faces all over it.

I smile. For some reason, I’m emotional.

I hug her.

“Thank you, Rachel,” I say.

We let go. Kurt kisses me in greeting.

He hands me a box.

I open it.

It’s a bracelet. It has an engraving on it.

_Courage_.

I blink a few times. I smile.

“Thank you,” I say.

All three of us hug, this little makeshift family.

I remember what I have in my pocket.

“Oh, um—here,” I say.

I pull out the little box, hand it to him.

He opens it.

“Blaine…”

“I know its stupid—”

“No! I love it.”

Rachel’s standing there, smiling at us.

“I got something for you, too, Berry.”

I fish it out of my bag.

Her face lights up when she sees it.

“Blaine! This is gorgeous!”

It’s really not. It’s hideous. But I knew she’d love it.

She holds up the sweater, and I see Kurt’s face.

I snort.

And then we sit down on the couch, the three of us.

This little makeshift family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, are you guys still there? I sound needy or whatever but I miss your comments. Love you  
> xx  
> ally


	96. New Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while, but here's a chapter!  
> xx  
> ally

**NEW YEARS**

_Ten_.

He downs his drink,

a cup of soda.

_Nine_.

Burt claps both of us

on the shoulder.

_Eight._

He looks at me.

_Seven._

He smiles.

_Six._

I smile, too.

_Five_.

He steps closer to me.

_Four_.

“You ready?”

_Three._

“Yeah.”

_Two._

I close my eyes.

_One_.

He kisses me.

_HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!_


	97. Hospice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "a hand to hold..."

**HOSPICE**

When old people get sick

and there’s low chance of

survival, they call hospice.

These people come into

your house and make

you comfortable.

They bathe you and help you

use the bathroom and

call you names like ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart.’

Someone to make your days

better, since they cannot

make your life longer.

A hand to hold

a name to call

a person to know.

But a sign that your days

are shortening

your river is running dry.

I hate those hospice nurses

because they show that

my grandma is dying.

I love those hospice nurses

because they bring my

grandma comfort in these days.

Her river was long

wild

crashing.

But I am afraid

it has just about

met its end.


	98. Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alexander was not his best friend..."

**ALEXANDER**

It’s march, the world outside beginning to thaw

and I sit next to her bed and I’m reading

Walt Whitman until she reaches over

with a shaking hand and touches my shoulder.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. Her voice,

despite her body, is still strong and steady. I nod

and look at her, quietly waiting.

“When your father was young—he looked

like you. He carried himself like you do—like

you used to. Always happy, always smiling—and

then he met this boy…

his name was Alexander—

and they were best friends.

They were always together, your father

was always talking about him. And then

one day—he came home in

tears.”

I don’t say anything. But if this

is what I think it is—

“He didn’t tell me what was wrong,

but I never saw Alexander again. Your

father refused to talk about him,

refused to even hear me say his name—

One day I couldn’t help myself, and

I read his journal. I still feel bad about

it to this day, like I betrayed him. But

Alexander was not his best friend. Alexander was—”

I hold up my hand—stopping her.

I cannot breathe.


	99. .

**.**

Why?


	100. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t know where I’m going—"

** STEPS **

Steps—

Grandma is behind me—

Steps—

Her house is behind me—

Steps—

It hurts so bad—

Steps—

It burns so bad—

Steps—

I’m on fire—

Steps—

He’s—

Steps—

There’s a tree—

Steps—

I’m very far from her house now—

Steps—

I don’t know where I’m going—

Steps—

I just need to sit down—

Steps—

This isn’t fair—

Steps—

I am trying to breathe—

Steps—

In—

Steps—

Out—

Still—

On the ground—

Still—

_Breathe._


	101. breathe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "in. out."

breathe.

breathe.

in. out.

in. out.

breathe.

in. out.

in. out.

breathe.

in. out.

in. out.

you. are. loved.

you. are. valid.

you. are. loved.

you. are. valid.

breathe.

in. out.

in. out.

breathe.

open your eyes.

breathe.

look at the sky.

it’s beautiful, right?

breathe.

in. out.

in. out.

breathe.

you. are. loved.

you. are. valid.

breathe.

there are clouds.

they are beautiful.

breathe.

in. out.

in. out.

breathe.

stand up.

breathe.

stand up.

breathe.

turn around.

breathe.

go. home.


	102. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i feel like this heavy weight is on my shoulders a chip i can’t brush away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, it's getting heavy the next few chapters: child abuse and violence and a lot of tears  
> xx  
> ally

**CONFRONTATION**

i stumble home, trying to stop

my tears before i get there, trying

to steady myself, trying to prepare myself.

as always, i see him before he sees

me, he’s sitting on the porch, looking like

he’s been through hell.

i make my way up the driveway, still

wiping away tears. we lock eyes, his

are wide, mine are misty.

he doesn’t say anything.

neither do i.

do we have to?

i feel like this heavy

weight is on my shoulders

a chip i can’t brush away.

i tear my eyes away.

“is it true?”

my voice is weaker than

i wanted it to be.

he doesn’t say anything, he

just looks at me like he doesn’t

know what i’m talking about.

“you know what i’m talking

about. who was alexander?”

i’m louder this time.

he still doesn’t say anything

but looks away, and suddenly

he’s crying.

i can’t stop my own tears from

falling, an ugly sob escaping

my lips.

“oh, my god,” i say. he buries

his face in his hands. i’m suddenly

angry with him.

he doesn’t get to cry

about this. he doesn’t get

to be sad or hurt or whatever he’s feeling.

not after what he did

to me. what he put me

through.

“why?” i shriek. he winces, but

it doesn’t stop me. “why

did you hurt me?

why did you hurt me, you

were supposed to _love_ me

no matter what!

why?” he’s just looking

at me, like a deer in

headlights.

and then suddenly he’s in my

face and there’s a hand

around my throat.


	103. Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He’s surprised by my resistance..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, child abuse, tears

**DEFENSE**

never in my life have i fought

my father back.

never in my life has the thought

even occurred to me.

never in my life have i wanted

to fight him back.

but—

My hands push against his

chest as I struggle to breathe. Not

this time.

He’s surprised by my resistance, I can

tell by the way his face changes.

I push again, and he hits me

in my face.

I hit him this time, he lets my

throat go.

I start screaming. He pushes me

into the wall.

“Why?” I scream.

There’s something familiar

in his eyes.

_That look_. The look in his

eyes is the same one from

the first time he hit me.

It isn’t hatred.

It isn’t anger.

It’s jealousy.

He’s jealous of me.

The fact that I can stand

and say who I am.

And he could never

bring himself to.

I manage to push him

off of me. “You sad bastard,” I breathe. He

moves to hit me again—

he doesn’t get to.

“You lay another finger

on my son and I will

kill you.”

We both look up in

surprise. My mother is

standing there, knife in hand.

She’s got a bruise on

the side of her face, my father’s

specialty, I guess.

“Mom,” I say. “Mom, put

the knife down.”

She looks at me, and only

then do I see how tired she is.

I see how hurt she is.

I see how angry she is.

I push my father. _Really_ push

him. He stumbles backwards. “Look

what you did,” I say. “Look at her.

Look at _me_. Look at what you

did to us.”

He can’t stop fidgeting, pulling

at his hair and clothes like he’s

on fire.

“I’d pity you if you weren’t

such a fucking bully. You don’t

deserve my pity. You don’t deserve

anything but to sit and _rot_ all by

yourself.”

He still hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t

said a single word since I arrived.

I turn to my mother, who is still

clutching the knife like it’s her

life source. I take it from her,

throw it to the side. Wrap my

arms around her.

After a minute of this, I turn

back to my father. “I’m happy

in every other aspect of my life—

until it comes to you. I have a best

friend, a boyfriend who loves me. And then

there’s you, who I can’t

seem to please, no matter how

hard I tried. So I’m

officially giving up.”

I take my mother by the

hand and lead her down

the steps and down the driveway,

leaving Jonathan Anderson

for what I hope is the last time.


	104. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They’re holding mine..."

**HANDS**

There’s a lot of hands

all at once, once we reach

the Berry’s residence.

They’re prodding and dabbing,

trying to stop the bleeding

that I didn’t know was occurring.

They’re comforting, rubbing

the backs of shaking shoulders

as my mother wails.

They’re holding mine, soft

and sure, the way a best

friend is supposed to.

They’re wiping tears that

can’t seem to stop flowing,

gentle as ever.

I can’t seem to forget

the heavy ones that

caused all of this.

But that doesn’t matter

right now, the only thing

that matters is these hands.

The ones that have

nothing but love

for me.

And my hands, they

hold on to hers, and they

squeeze lightly.

Fingers intertwine with mine

and she squeezes back,

and thumb grazing my palm.

Her eyes meet mine, and

I realize she’s crying,

tears running down her face.

I look over at my mother,

who’s wiping tears and speaking

in hushed whispers to Rachel’s dads.

And I see them crying, too, silent

tears running down their

faces, little rivers.

I can’t stop their tears, I can’t

stop my mom’s, can’t stop

Rachel’s.

But I can try and stop mine,

because he doesn’t  
deserve my tears.

Yet they keep flowing,

an ugly sob escaping

my lips.

So I just squeeze Rachel’s

hands again, breathe in

deeply, and try to smile.

It’s a broken thing, twisted

with the inability to stop

crying.

Hands find my face,

wipe the tears and stay

there, comforting.

“Let it go, Blaine,”she

whispers. “Don’t hold

it in, let it go.”

And her hands are on

my back, comforting me

as I let go.

Hands,

God’s greatest

invention.


	105. Another Third Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Blaine what happened?”

**ATHIRD PHONE CALL**

_“Hello?”_

“Hey.”

_“Are you crying?”_

“Yeah.”

_“What’s wrong? Where are you?”_

“Rachel’s house.”

_“Do you want me to come over?”_

“…”

_“Blaine please stop crying.”_

“I’m sorry.”

_“No don’t apologize—I just—I love you.”_

“I love you, too, Kurt.”

_“Do you want me to come over?”_

“Uh—no…I’ll come over to your place. Too many tears here.”

_“Blaine what happened?”_

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

_“Blaine.”_

“A lot happened, Kurt.”

_“Are you hurt?”_

“A little.”

_“Blaine…”_

“I’m okay.”

“ _No you’re not. I can hear it in your voice.”_

“I’ll be there in a little bit, okay?”

_“Okay…”_

“I love you.”

_“I love you, too.”_

**_Call Ended._ **


	106. When He Sees Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...he tells me he loves me..."

**WHEN I SEE HIM**

When I see him he takes

me up in his arms, kisses me

on the side of my head, holds

me, and doesn’t ask me anything.

When I see him he rocks

me back and forth, guides me

upstairs, sits me down, and

cradles me in his arms.

When I see him he tells

me he loves me, looks at

my face, wipes my tears, and

kisses me on the lips.

When I see him the world

just sort of melts away

and none of it matters

anymore, because he’s here.


	107. Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He kisses my forehead, taking a shaky breath of his own."

**BRUISED**

He takes my face

in his hands

after a while.

His hands are bigger

than Rachel’s, but

gentler. They trace

imaginary lines,

ghosting over

sensitive skin.

He runs a finger over

my lips, kisses me

softly, so softly.

“Your face,” he

whispers. “Your

beautiful face.”

I take a shuddering

breath. He kisses

my forehead, taking

a shaky breath of his

own.

He’s still touching

my face, but his hands

are shaking. I touch

his leg. “What’s

wrong?”

He sighs, but says

nothing, just keeps

running invisible

lines across my face.

And suddenly his hands

were at his waist, his

fingers working the

button on his pants.

When I look at him,

confused, he shakes

his head. He shimmies

out of his jeans, exposing

porcelain skin and underwear.

He closes his eyes.

I’m confused, still.

And then I remember.

And then I see.


	108. Scarred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are no words that could convey my feelings..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for scars from self harm. end notes will summarize the chapter if you need it.

**SCARRED**

I don’t know how I missed

it, that first time.

They’ve healed now, just

little pieces of

raised skin.

He still hasn’t opened

his eyes. “Kurt,” I say.

“Kurt, please

look at me.”

I need him to look

at me, to see me.

He opens his eyes, but

they’re full of fear

and shame. “I love you,”

I say. “I love you.”

He bites his lip. “You’re

so strong,” I whisper. He

looks at me.

“You’re strong, too,

you know,” he says

quietly. “I’m proud

of you.”

There aren't many words

after that. There are no

words that could convey

my feelings. We just

lay there, and I listen to

him breathe. My hand rests

on his thigh, but this

time he doesn’t move

it.

W’ere both strong, I

realize. We’re both

so strong, in so many

different ways.

But we are the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i've never summarized a chapter before oops)  
> Kurt showed Blaine his scars,  
> Blaine told Kurt he loved him,  
> They told one another that they were strong,  
> and then they just kind of laid there,   
> saying nothing but feeling everything.


	109. Verses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know it by heart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for millie. ily.

**VERSES**

I sit up after a while,

determined not to

fall asleep, no matter

how much I want to

close my eyes and pretend

all of this this never happened.

Kurt sits up, too, pushes

a few stray hairs off

my face. “I wrote you

something,” I say.

Kurt smiles, the corners

of his mouth turning up

slightly. Then his eyebrows

furrow. “You don’t have

your journal, though,” he

says. I shrug.

“I don’t need it,” I respond.

It’s true—I don’t. I know

it by heart. I speak

quickly, the words

falling out of my

mouth.

“ _It’s amazing how_

_someone can come into_

_your life so quickly_

_and take_

_your heart_

_and mind_

_and soul—_

_but you have_

_done this to me…”_

There’s more—but

he doesn’t let me finish,

he’s kissing me before

I know what’s happening.

I kiss him back, so eager

it takes us both by surprise.

I need this—I didn’t

realize it until now.

I love him.

I love him.

I love him.

When he says my

name, heavy

and rough   
  
and perfect—

the skies open

up.


	110. Deathbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "if I say something I might break."

**DEATHBED**

Days pass and turn

into weeks, my mom

staying in a hotel and

I visit her every day,

but someone has

to be with Grandma.

I see Kurt and Rachel

a lot more, they

come over and bring

food and books and

Kurt likes to steal kisses

in the hallways.

But mostly I’m alone,

with no one but

Grandma for company—

just holding her

hand because it seems

that’s all I can do for her.

I feel bad for leaving

her when she told me

about my father

and Alexander—I just

left her here alone

by herself.

Anything could have

happened—she could have

gotten hurt, or fallen

or— _or_ —no. Won’t

think about that—even

though it’s inevitable.

She loves me, I know

that, and I know she doesn’t

want to die, but

it seems like death is

just around the corner

for her—no.

When I hold her hand

she rubs little circles

into my skin, like she's

comforting me. She shouldn’t

have to comfort _me_ , she’s

the one who’s—no.

Am I grieving already?

Am I already in the first

stage of denial? Have

I already killed her off?

It’s like she’s already dead

in my mind.

She doesn’t talk much

anymore, a few words

here and there, her

voice growing weaker

and weaker, more

of a whisper now.

But she speaks now,

looking at me with

concerned eyes. “You’re

crying,” she says. I nod—

if I say something I

might break.

She blinks a few times.

Squeezes my hand

a little. “Don’t

cry, Blaine,” she says.

“There’s nothing to

cry about.”

I shake my head, I

have another opinion

on this issue. I wipe

my face. Breathe.

Fucking _breathe_ , Blaine

Anderson. Breathe.

There’s nothing to cry

about.

There’s _everything_ to cry

about.

This is her deathbed.


	111. There's Nothing to Cry About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She looks so peaceful..."

**THERE’S NOTHING TO CRY ABOUT**

She passes in her sleep,

peacefully, eyes closed

as if she’s just sleeping

but the cool of her skin

tells the truth.

I call my mom because

I don’t know what else

to do, my mom and

a hospice nurse.

She looks so peaceful—so

at ease and free.

There’s this poem I like

by Walt Whitman—

 _To One Shortly to Die_ —

and he says at the end:

“ _I do not commiserate, I congratulate you.”_

And maybe this is what

he’s talking about—this

look of freedom, of

peacefulness, of ease.

But she’s gone too

soon—I wasn’t ready

for her to leave me.

My mom is here now—

taking me up in her

arms, rocking me back and

forth as my dam breaks once

again. Shoulders shake

with tears from both of

us before I pull away,

wipe at my face.

She tells me she loves

me. I respond in kind.

_There’s nothing to cry about._

Did she feel like Whitman?

Maybe. Or maybe

she was just tired. Maybe

she was ready to see God,

or whatever is up there.

Maybe she was just

ready to go. Exhausted

by life and love. By loss and

hope and the heartache that

is all apart of being a

human being.

Maybe.

_There’s nothing to cry about._

Godspeed, Grandma.


	112. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A part of me still hates him—it still burns inside of me, what he did to me, our last meeting."

**FUNERAL**

I knew he would

be here, but it doesn’t

stop the bile from rising

in my throat when I

see him amongst all the

other people clad in black.

Kurt is at my side, and

he takes my hand and

squeezes. I squeeze back,

maybe a little too

tightly by the small whimper

that escapes his lips.

He’s standing in

the back but his eyes

are glued to her coffin,

and I see him cracking.

A part of me still hates him—

it still burns inside of

me, what he did to me, our

last meeting.

But a bigger, more

human part of me

feels bad for him—this was

his mother.

I’m frightened of him,

even now. I can’t stop

my palms from sweating

or my teeth from chattering.

But I just breathe and

sit down next to Kurt and my

mom andCooper and the

funeral starts and there’s

a preacher and scriptures

and prayers and it’s hard to breathe,

you know? I know he’s in

here and it’s really hard

to fucking breathe.

And then it’s all over and

they’re carrying her

out of here and she’s

gone and there’s

just us—the people she

left behind.

And he’s here.

She left him behind, too.

That was his mother.

He’s in so much pain.

He’s lost so much.

_He did it to himself_ , I

think. He did. _He doesn’t_

 _deserve your sympathy_. He

doesn’t. _Don’t you dare_.

I swallow, and my mouth

feels like sandpaper. I’m so

tired of being afraid of him—I

beg myself to stop reacting

in such a way. 

I find myself pulling away from

Kurt and my mother and

walking towards him. I can

hear Kurt behind me, but

I don’t really register

what he’s saying.

Barry, Ian, and Steve are

standing in a circle

near him. I wave, Barry

waves back. Ian just sort of

looks at me. Steve is drunk and

doesn’t notice.

My father is looking

at me, his eyes red

and face blotchy and

hands shoved into

his pockets. I just

look at him, for a long time.

I feel a hand on my waist—

It’s Kurt, I know it is by

the way his fingers

caress. He’s trying

to pull me away, to

protect me but I wave

him off. He lets me

go but I know he

hasn’t stepped away.

“You hurt me,” I say. There’s

no hesitation in my voice, no

tremor even though my

hands are shaking. “You hurt

my mother. You hurt us.”

I take a breath. “I’m not

ready to forgive you. There’s

a big part of me that still

hates you for what you did,

what you said, and

the hypocrisy of it all.

But you lost your mother

today, and I can’t imagine

how that feels. I know you

loved her. I know she loved

you, despite what you

became. She loved you.

And I—I love you, too. Mom

loves you. Cooper loves you.

We all love you—but—”

I take a breath. “But I can’t

be around you. I can’t. I’m

sorry for your loss. I miss her,

too—I miss her _so_ much.

I have to go now—take

care of yourself.”

I turn around then, and

Kurt is right there

and my mom isn’t far

either.

I thought I’d cry. But

I don’t. I feel lighter.

There’s nothing to cry about, I guess.


	113. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "First time in a long time of me being happy..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next to last chapter!!

**GOODBYE**

My mom and I

find an apartment. It’s small

but cozy and ours.

There are final projects

and classroom parties

and exams.

Summer plans are made,

kisses are stolen in empty

hallways, hands are held

under desks. Legs are

always touching.

I have the plan

to actually _attend_ Glee

Club next year—they lost

this year anyway, I guess

Rachel finally got the

Quarterback. Eek.

Next year is senior year. I’m

excited for it. First year

free of my father. First year

in love. First time in a long

time of me being happy and

ready for anything.

I think I’m gonna let this

journal go. No need for you

anymore. But thank you.

Without you I think

I would have fallen apart.

There are no more skeletons in

my closet, I’ve left the closet behind

entirely. I’m optimistic

for the future.

Goodbye for now, I guess.

Thank you again.

xx,

Blaine Devon Anderson


	114. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, thank you for taking this journey with me.

**Blaine Anderson**

**May 18th**

**Assignment Question: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?**

**Epilogue**

I see myself

with him.

I see myself

happy.

I see myself

working in music.

I see myself

in New York.

I see myself

getting ready to have kids.

I see myself

inspiring others.

I see myself

at peace.

I see myself

optimistic.

I’m so ready for

the future. So ready

to let go of

my past.

Because when he looks

at me, he sees me.

He _sees_ me and

he _understands_ me and

he _loves_ me.

He saved me, and

for that I am forever

grateful.

I see him, too.

I understand him and

I love him.

I’m letting go and stepping into the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of 'See Me' thank you again for taking this journey with me. I had so much fun writing this story and I hope you enjoyed it. My tumblr is [20xbetterthanu](https://20xbetterthanu.tumblr.com)  
>  and you can see some behind the scenes of this story[here](https://20xbetterthanu.tumblr.com/post/631235734335078400/behind-the-scenes-of-my-story-see-me) and [here](https://20xbetterthanu.tumblr.com/post/630694444757286912/this-is-my-book-of-ideas)
> 
> once again thank you and don't hesitate to check out my other stories!!  
> xx ally


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